


The NPower Affair

by dechagny



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blackmail, But like in a Joking way and not in a serious way, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, First Meetings, Hate to Love, I Really Don't Know How to Tag This Fic So It's a Surprise For Everyone!, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love/Hate, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, No Beta We Die Like Mr Tickel, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Slow Build, a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dechagny/pseuds/dechagny
Summary: After The Daily Mail breaks a scandal at NPower, journalist Adam Kenyon finds himself trying to squeeze the truth from NPower's press officer, Fergus Williams. Unfortunately, Fergus is a lot harder to crack than Adam anticipated, and now he's caught in a game that could see both of them lose.
Relationships: Adam Kenyon/Fergus Williams
Comments: 70
Kudos: 66





	1. Adam

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a real scandal at NPower in 2008, however, I've embellished and exaggerated some of the facts for dramatic effect. So, if anyone at NPower, the Daily Mail, or any other newspaper who might have gotten involved, find this fic somehow: please don't sue me. I don't actually have any money or a house of my own you can take anyway xoxo

**11:15 pm, 5th April 2008 – Daily Mail Night Desk**

It had only been a quarter of an hour, but Adam already felt like he'd been staring at the grey, soulless wall of his office for eternity. The clock hanging above his door showed signs of stopping – the second hand just a fraction out of sync with the one on his computer.

He scrolled through emails with a glassy expression, propping his chin on his palm, the fingers of his free hand giving short, sharp drags on the wheel of his mouse without him actually reading anything on the screen beyond the subject. One from Gerry from the day shift reminded him to tell his team to move their dirty mugs off the desks before they went home, which was a fair point, but Gerry was a conceited prick so he could fuck off. Beverley from payroll was doing another fundraiser – some kind of sponsored bike ride this time – vapid, sanctimonious bitch. Her little reminders about it and updates on her training would litter his inbox for weeks. With any luck, she'd hit a pothole and break both her arms on the fall to the asphalt.

The rest of the emails were from members of the public who all thought they had a story to share – mostly disgruntled middle-class wankers complaining about planning permission or parking permit or something equally as inconsequential and dull. Then again, some Daily Mail readers slurped that sort of shit up like a meals-on-wheels soup.

Since he could already feel his will to live dying inside him, Adam grabbed the mug from the far corner of his desk and strode to the kitchen. He didn't make eye contact with anyone else, and they all understood he wasn't to be spoken to until he'd had his first coffee of the night. Though bitter and weak, it revived him enough to stomach the nightly briefing.

"What've we got?" he asked, leaning against an empty day desk as he sipped on his lightly sour coffee. "Charlie?"

"Uhh…" Charlie shrugged and sighed, so he sounded like a horse as he flipped through his notebook. "Delia Smith's being criticised for putting too much salt in her recipes? Bloggers are feeling too much pressure to post?"

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Adam could already feel a migraine pinching at the back of his eye. Suddenly Charlie's face made him feel more nauseous than the coffee. "Right, those aren't fucking news stories, are they?" He took a small amount of pleasure from watching Charlie sink lower in his chair. "Why don't you actually write something worthwhile? Or should I set up a little station of crayons and poster paint for you so you can decorate your little primary school projects for mummy?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "It's a slow news day, Adam, and it's better than nothing."

"Shut up, yeah? Paul, tell me you've got something we can actually use please."

The squat man with the square head took off his glasses as he announced his story. "Married Labour MPs claiming over forty grand without submitting a single receipt between them."

Adam cocked one interested eyebrow, nodding slowly over his mug as he sipped, impatiently gesturing for Paul to carry on.

"Right, well," he said, clearing throat, "it was about five years ago, but it's only just become public knowledge. Technically, they haven't broken any rules, but I feel like we can draw attention to the lax Commons expenses regime and push that angle."

"Great, we can work with that," Adam agreed, putting his mug on the desk, and scratching his jaw as he thought about the story; his mind whirling faster now than it had all day. "Try and get in a point about how it's time for MP pay reforms or something – let those fuckers know we're watching them."

They kept going around the room, bouncing back ideas on what they could fill the morning's paper with. A damning report on NHS failures, policing mistakes, and catty celebrity think pieces, namely one on Lily Allen's new blonde hairdo and torn skirt as she went to the petrol station. An article that was thrown at Charlie since he was "so interested in writing absolute horseshit."

"What about you, Angela?" Adam asked, draining his mug of the last few dregs of disappointing coffee, bitterness stinging the back of his tongue. "Got anything of note to add?"

Angela Heaney, looking as dour as ever with her tired, pinched expression glanced up from her computer, fiddling with a biro – pushing the cap off and on again. Her curls were struggling against the constraints of her hairband. "I also picked up on MPs expenses, but I've got something on Labour MPs criticising faith schools."

It took a surprising amount of strength and self-control, but Adam managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. "Pedestrian. Make it more interesting, please."

"It's nice to see you've learnt the word please recently," Angela smirked, spinning around on her chair to face the computer screen again. "You almost sound like a normal person now."

"Yes, thank you for your feedback. I'll be sure to file that in my magic cabinet with all your other insightful witticisms." Adam took his mug back to the kitchen to pour more coffee, immediately dissolving the meeting without another word.

The office turned from sharing the echoes quiet shuffling to being filled with the uninspired tapping of keyboards and discreet snickers behind hands.

It wasn't until he sat down at his own desk again, watching the pallid faces of his co-workers through the glass walls did Adam notice how sickly yellow the office lights were. They drenched everyone in a pus-coloured glow and only highlighted the grotesque parts of everyone – like Paul's tufts of ear hair or Charlie's pockmarked chin. For the briefest of moments, Adam wondered what people saw when they caught a glimpse of him in this unforgiving office. Still, the thought evaporated like vapour as he sank into the tiresome bog of his email inbox.

* * *

**12:33 am, 6th April 2008**

It was the quick patter of heels on the threadbare carpet that twitched Adam out of his work-fug monotony followed by the swift rap of Angela's bony knuckles on his door. Her hair seemed to be twice the size than it was an hour ago.

There was a healthy flush spreading over her cheeks and forehead, and the tell-tale rise and fall of her chest signalled that she'd just run the two flights of stairs up from reception.

"Sorry, but it couldn't wait," she said, pushing open the door, babbling, so Adam didn't have time to respond before he needed to. "Jennifer's on her way back, and she wants to see you."

Adam cocked his brows, tapping an index finger against the desk. It had only been three weeks. "She's properly back?"

"It sounded that way," Angela shrugged, her hand still wrapped around the door handle. "She said she'd be ten minutes."

Leaning back in his chair, creaking on its wheels, Adam let a lungful of air pass through his lips as he threw down his pen. "Alright, send her straight in when she gets here. Thanks, Angela."

She nodded response, and as soon as she'd gone, Adam set about cleaning his desk of half-used stationery and the rejected printed drafts of the morning's front pages, but Jennifer was walking through the door before he'd finished clearing the chair opposite the desk of his coat and leather satchel.

"Organised as ever I see," she quipped with a smirk, leaning against the door with a plastic wallet tucked under her arm. This combined with her generic features that gave everyone the impression of a child's drawing of a person – blonde, blue-eyed, average height, and weight - made her look like the one woman in every office no-one really remembered the name of.

The only probably with Jennifer was she wore her genericism like a badge of honour. Outside of this office, where she never let anyone forget where her strengths lie, she was practically invisible. People walked into her; it took her longer to get served in pubs and restaurants, and more often than not, people forgot she was even in the room.

When the whistle-blower came forward, there really was only one person who could investigate the matter from the inside.

"I wasn't expecting you back quite so soon," he admitted, throwing his things under the desk as he took his seat. He wouldn't say it, but sometimes, this desk made him feel a king at the end of his banqueting table. "What've you got for me?"

"Everything," she said, sinking into the newly vacant chair. With a deft hand, she slid the file across the desk, pressing the tip of her tongue against one neat incisor. Adam was physically repelled by her nauseating self-satisfaction. "Audio recordings, the salesman training handbook, copies of internal and external emails…it all corroborates what the whistle-blower said and then some."

Adam eagerly puled page after page of evidence from the folder, scanning Jennifer's pink highlights and putting aside the USB sticks lurking in the folder's corner for the files to be listened to later. As infuriating as she was, she was at least thorough in her work.

"Have you quit?" he asked, not looking at her as he licked his finger to turn the page of the employee handbook.

"Not just yet," Jennifer shrugged. "I have an email in my drafts ready to go, but if you need anything else, I can go back in the morning and carry on."

Everything Adam could've wanted from Npower already lay in that file, but God it was tempting to send her back there for another three weeks just so he didn't have to listen to her humble brag about her time undercover and how it was _her_ who had broken the story. Her who had risked it all to follow the lead, talking like she was an undercover cop rather than the world's blandest journalist.

"Quit. When can you get the article written?"

"I've been working on it on and off," she admitted. "I can finish it now in time for the next print."

Adam nodded, shoving everything back into the file and throwing it back at her with a deft flick of his wrist. "Right, good. Go."

With a stiff nod, Jennifer leapt from the chair, scurrying out to her previously abandoned desk, Adam hot on her heels.

"Listen up everyone," he called out, clapping his hands with a thunderous boom that made everyone tear their eyes from their screens. "We're now running with the whole Npower affair on the front page instead. Paul, we're bumping your MPs expenses piece down to page three, and to make room for the extra story, Charlie, your gossip pieces are being scrapped completely."

Poor Charlie exhaled sharply, scratching his receding hairline. "For fuck sake, Adam, are you serious?"

"Yes," he answered impatiently. "You bring nothing of substance to the table, Charlie. This is what you get for choosing celebrity gossip instead of actual journalism – you're the scourge of society."

"People love the shit I put out. You can't just bin everything I do when something else comes along."

"Watch me," Adam yawned. "This how this business works. If you're that fucking pissed by it, see if the web team will take your shit." Shaking his head, he launched himself back into the matter at hand. "I expect we'll be running with this story over the next few days, possibly even weeks, so even if you're not a business journalist, can you all keep an eye on reactions and other reports."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jennifer's insipidly smug smile as she logged in to her computer.

"We'll run a follow-up article tomorrow after we get a response from Npower. Make sure anything you write, especially you, Jennifer, that you reiterate how shit this is for our readers. The company has mainly been targeting the elderly, so that's half our fucking readership – scare them into buying our paper under the guise of being helpful, warning them about Npower's dodgy practices."

Jennifer nodded, grinning like a snake. "I like the irony of it. Npower frightened their customers to sell more energy, now we're scaring the same people into buying our paper."

"You could look at it like that," he agreed, scratching his chin – stubble already beginning to grow from the smooth skin there. "Or you could look at it as us doing a public service for our customers whilst helping to build our readership."

"If you say so," she said airily, watching him trudge back to his office, rolling his shoulders.

* * *

**9:15 am, 6th April 2008**

The dark circles under his eyes and the itching and burning behind his eyelids were worth it when he looked at the printed front page. By now, Adam was sure that the news had spread to Npower's head office and he wondered what their clean-up plan was or whether they had one at all.

"Oh, Jennifer!" he called out, seeing her limp ponytail walk past. "Can you come here for a moment?" he added, beckoning her with a crook of his index finger.

Most of the day shift had already arrived and were occupying the desks on the other side of the room, chattering incessantly, all bright-eyed with their takeaway coffees. Jennifer was invisible again as she waited for a gaggle of sprightly women to skip to their desks, walking in front of Adam's office and blocking her path with their designer heels.

"Everything alright? I thought you would've left ages ago," she said, stumbling into the office on her weary feet. Working a day shift at Npower and night shift at the Mail had taken more out of her than she had expected.

"Just tying up some loose ends. Plus, I was just looking over your article again," he said, stifling a yawn. Adam folded the paper and placed it beside his keyboard. "It's good… you've got a good story here."

There was a moment of pause as Jennifer choked back a stunned laugh, the noise dying in her throat as she saw the sincerity sitting like a stone over his features. "I know, but thank you," she said eventually, allowing herself to smile. "Compliments suit you, Adam. You should try giving them more often."

"Don't push your fucking luck, okay?" he fired back darkly. "But before you go, I was wondering what contacts you have for Npower? I want to get their statement for tomorrow's follow-up."

"I thought you might ask," she said proudly, rooting around her shoulder bag for her purse. "I collected a few and wrote their names on the back." Jennifer pulled out a few business card-sized slips and handed them over with a smug smile. "The CEO, the press officer, the manager of the sales team, the whistle blower's home phone number…"

Adam waved her away. "That's enough, thanks. Go home and get some sleep ready for tonight."

He was on the phone as soon as she left. The CEO had blocked his number already, which he was expecting. The sales manager's line was already occupied – every beep of the phone just prolonging his day and robbing him of another second of disturbed sleep.

Slamming the phone down, Adam picked up the slip for the press officer, dialling the number as he blinked back his exhaustion. His eyelashes felt like anchors, pulling him under the sea. In his ear, the phone line rang out, a tinny noise reverberating around his eardrum.

"Hello?" came the voice at the other end. The man spoke tightly and clipped, making Adam grin.

Adam turned over the slip in his hand, running his thumb over the scrawled name in Jennifer's quick hand. "Is this Fergus Williams from the Npower press office?"

"Yes. Can I help you? I'm waiting on another call - we're really rather busy today."

"Oh, I know," Adam said, leaning back in his chair. He leisurely crossed his legs and thought that maybe Jennifer had a point when she revelled in her smugness – it felt fucking incredible. "It's Adam Kenyon here from the Daily Mail. Would you be willing to spare a few moments to answer a couple of questions?"


	2. Fergus

**11:15 pm, 5th April 2008 – Councillor’s Office, Late Night Drop-in Surgery**

Mrs Thompson was an ugly crier. Her cheeks had turned red and fleshy, flecked with purple veins like someone had squashed a tomato against her skin. Mascara was clumped over her eyelashes, and a snot ribbon trailed from one large nostril to the top of her lip. There was a smear of purple lipstick on her front teeth.

As she continued to weep, and as her tongue flicked out to wipe the mucus away like she was some kind of lizard, Fergus just nodded kindly and pushed a box of tissues towards her.

“Thank you,” she sniffled, taking one and blowing into it like a mother blowing a raspberry on a child’s belly – noisier than entirely necessarily and sickening anyone within earshot. “And thank you for these late surgeries – I know so many people who appreciate them.”

Fergus tilted his head, sympathy oozing out of every pore. He hoped his soft stare and the generic understanding words of comfort didn’t come off as artificial. It was far too easy to sound like he didn’t care, but he did, but God, these late-night surgeries would be the death of him. At least he only did them once a month – that felt manageable when he had so much to do outside of the council too. But as much as he wanted to get to know the people of his ward and hear out their concerns and problems, he also wanted to crawl into bed and hear the soft thud of his head hitting his eiderdown pillow.

“This is why I do this, Mrs Thompson,” he assured her. “It’s important that we have options for hard-working people like you. Rest assured, I’m as angry as you about the state of our local playgrounds, and I’m going to do everything I can to stop your little,” he paused, wracking his brain for the kid’s name. “Alfie…” he said tentatively, carrying on when she nodded into her tissue, “from getting injured like this again. Or any other child from getting injured for that matter.”

“Thank you, Fergus,” the weeping woman said, screwing up the tissue and cramming it up the sleeve of her burgundy cardigan as she got to her feet. “I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me, to the whole community, to finally have a councillor that listens and actually wants to help.”

There was something about Mrs Thompson’s words, and how much she genuinely meant them, that warmed Fergus from his breastbone outwards, reaching to the tips of his fingers. He walked her to the door with a serene smile, gently touching her between the shoulder blades when he pushed on the door handle. Sometimes, it really was just as simple as listening – that was half his job at this point. A surprisingly easy part, if mind-numbingly dull on occasion.

“That’s incredibly heartening to hear, Mrs Thompson,” he admitted, his smile coming forth without needing to actively force himself. “I’m glad I can be of service. Now, you have my email address, so if you need anything before the next surgery, drop me a line, and I’ll help how I can.”

Mrs Thompson turned on her heels to face him with the grace of a seasoned dancer, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline. “Oh! There is just one more thing…someone is fly-tipping in the alley behind Bishop’s Place again. Can you get someone to remove it? Some white goods and a mattress are blocking Nicola Jones’ back path.”

“I’ll sort it,” he agreed, his smile turning tight as he gently encouraged her to move through the office door so he could finally go the fuck home. Fergus glanced at his Omega watch as Mrs Thompson began her rant on the environmental and everyday practicality impacts on fly-tipping, her feet seemingly cemented to his floorboards. “Yes, it is incredibly concerning,” he said absently when she looked at him with righteous fury. “I’ll make sure it’s cleaned up as quickly as possible. Enjoy the rest of your night, Mrs Thompson, and don’t worry about a thing. Everything will be swept away and taken care of.”

It took her another two minutes to finally leave – Fergus heaving a sigh of relief as he shut the door with a satisfying click. The sudden appearance of silence rang in his ears, and he relished in it for a moment, leaning against the plywood door and staring at his office; his third home. Compared to his steel grey, corporate office at Npower, this felt more like a grandfather’s library – all warm wood and infused with the lingering, acrid fragrance of tobacco smoke, a scent that had been stuck there since the councillor before him. It didn’t matter for how long he opened the window on its rusting hinges, the air never could wick it away.

The last thing Fergus did before walking the fifteen minutes home had been to slip into the lumpy, second-hand chair and fire off several emails on behalf of Mrs Thompson, hitting the bulbous screen with a foul-mouthed mutter when the display froze for at least five minutes. But, when the emails had flown the outbox, he pulled on his coat and turned off the light, his mind whirring into what he needed to do at his other office in the morning. He needed to refute something after Ofgem criticised Npower for cutting people off and allowing others to fall into debt after their price hike, refusing to help loyal customers who were labouring with the change.

“We feel it is vital to professionally manage cases where people can pay but won’t,” he said to himself as he unlocked the front door. The action of speaking his main points out loud when he was away from his desk, helping him to better formulate his press response when he got back. “For those genuinely struggling, we have a variety of practical solutions…”

Fergus kicked off his shoes at the door and hung his coat in the hallway. “Supply disconnection is only carried out as a last resort after a painstaking 14-step process and several attempts to resolve issues with the customer.”

With a soft mutter as he fell into bed five minutes later, remembering to set his alarm at the last moment, he planned out his final quote. “The report doesn’t provide any evidence that we’ve been disconnecting inappropriately.”

* * *

**8:45 am, 6th April 2008 – Npower Head Office**

Walking past reception, Fergus didn’t notice anything unusual. Celia was sitting behind the glass front desk, chewing on a lump of pink gum, and tapping on her keyboard, nodding at him as he went by.

“Morning, Mr Williams. Productive surgery last night?” She blew on her gum, so it popped over lips with sticky strands clinging to the ridges of her skin. Just as distracting as the incessant popping was the way she insisted on having most of her tits hanging out like she had forgotten the first three buttons on her blouse existed.

It was no secret that Celia was shagging one of the Executive Directors, so she could get away with being unprofessional. She regularly exploited this by being cold and distant to visiting customers and guests of the CEO, painting her nails at the desk and stealing milk money from the kitty she kept locked in the filing cabinet behind her.

All that to one side, her insistence on showing off her cleavage worked a charm; it was far more challenging for most investors and customers to complain or discuss deals when they were too busy thinking with their dicks. Celia flirted and thrust her assets around as she checked them in, and then, ten minutes into whatever meeting was being held, came into the room on a cloud of Chanel, carrying tea that no-one had asked for with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.

Despite her best efforts, Fergus never once rose to Celia’s attention. He was more intrigued by her degree in architecture she mentioned two years ago at the office Christmas party and then never again.

“Surgeries are always productive,” he said. “That’s really rather the point of them.”

She arched a thin eyebrow and smirked. “I hope you didn’t get to bed too late. You might need the energy for today’s foray into paradise.”

Fergus frowned slightly, but he didn’t overthink it. Instead, he gave her a stiff nod and a polite smile as he passed the desk and ascended the two flights of stairs to his office chamber. Pushing open the double doors, he was immediately struck by the sheer amount of activity bubbling away in the corner. When he got to his desk, the red message light was blinking at a steady pace, announcing the four voicemails and nine missed calls.

“What’s going on?” he asked, pressing the phone to his ear with his lips parted in a confused pout. No-one who had called in the early hours was picking up now.

“Haven’t you heard?” Denise called over the din, scooping up the newspaper from her desk and jogging over to him, wobbling on her heels. “One of the new salesgirls was an undercover journalist!”

Somewhere in the back of his head, static began to seep over his brain, sending cold tingles through his limbs. “A fucking what?” he repeated, practically clawing the newspaper out of Denise’s hand. He’d ripped the corner of the cover, and the pages were crinkled from Denise’s firm grip, but the headline was still clear as day.

**INSIDE THE CHEATING WORLD OF NPOWER’S ROGUE SALES TEAMS.**

**Customers conned by fictitious tariff figures.**

**An exposé by Jennifer Brooks.**

He skimmed the article and fell into his ergonomic chair – forgetting that he wasn’t able to slump in it, so it felt like he was being punched in the spine as he went down. It was like reading the salesman employee handbook in the guise of a novel.

_‘Some customers had been cheated of hundreds of pounds per month.’_

_‘Elderly and vulnerable customers reported feeling intimidated by members of the sales team to sign on the dotted line.’_

_‘Managers actively trained staff on how to defraud both new and existing customers, encouraging the sales teams to use scare tactics and lies to achieve a sale.’_

As if his legs were part of a jack-in-the-box, they pushed him back off the chair, causing Denise to take a step back as he threw down the newspaper with a rant brewing in the back of his throat. He could feel his skin prickling with warmth as though he’d been lying in the sun for too long, and he suspected that whatever happened next would be just as inconvenient and uncomfortable as a sunburn too.

“Oh, fucking Christ,” Fergus breathed, running his fingers through his hair. A small voice told him that he should probably wash it tonight. “She’s got everything. She fucking collected everything!”

Denise, her golden hair shining brighter than a polished penny, had the complexion of a ghost. More so than usual. She was even chewing the skin around her thumbnail as she waited to see the full extent of Fergus’ rage.

“We didn’t even know there was a salesgirl here called Jennifer,” she admitted. The way her eyebrows arched reminded Fergus of a chastised puppy. “Did you?”

“Yes, of course,” he said quickly, grinding his molars together as he Googled Jennifer’s name on his computer, stooping over the keyboard. “She was the one with the…uh…face…and the hair.” His right eye twitched when he swallowed the saliva that had collected at the back of his throat – the screen flashing with Ms Brooks’ other articles, her LinkedIn profile, and even an image of her police-line-up-bland face. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! One pissing search for her name could’ve stopped this from happening.” He ran a hand over his tired features, taking a deep breath through his nose. “So, not only have we been cheating customers, but we can’t even fucking screen our employees properly!” Spittle clung to the corners of his mouth and Denise nodded regretfully, her eyes trained on the foamy part of his lip. “Does John know about this?”

“Uh-huh. He’s in a meeting with the Big Boss about it now.” Denise pulled her Samsung from the pocket of her sleet-grey blazer. “Should be finished soon, with any luck. John said he’d give you a ring so you could discuss clean-up strategies.”

Resigned to the fact there was nothing he could do at the moment other than watch the news like a hawk, Fergus lowered himself into his chair again, tapping his fingers against the glass tabletop in an irregular rhythm.

“Right,” he said slowly, casting his eyes over the office. The marketing team were beginning to fizzle out – whether, from too much excitement or the scandal naturally petering out on its own, Fergus couldn’t be totally sure. He knew what he hoped for, but he also knew the most likely answer. Still, that piece of hope kept him teetering on the edge of uncertainty. “Can you get me a coffee then, please, Denise?”

Snorting, Denise turned in the direction of her own desk. “I’m not your bloody P.A, Fergus,” she sang. “You’ve got legs.”

Fergus rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself as he opened up the Daily Mail website – the story was being highlighted there too. His mouth had dried up in seconds, and his tongue felt like he’d been shovelling sand into his mouth, and yet he found he couldn’t tear himself away from his desk or stop himself from refreshing the website every few seconds. God knows what might happen in the several minutes it would take him to make coffee and avoid Sarah’s daily whinge on why her fiancé is actually the worst person she’s ever met because he left a plate in the sink.

No, he’d just have to wait it out and risk dying of thirst, distracting himself by drafting that Ofgem response. Though that little niggle on the company’s record was probably long-forgotten now, and they could deal with that privately. Or ignore it entirely and hope it would fade into nothingness like a hazy rainbow over a dewy field – there one minute and gone the next.

With one steel-blue eye on his phone, Fergus trawled the internet to see how far the rot had spread. No other news site had picked it up yet, but it was only a matter of time before other vulturistic journalists picked at the corpse of the story, begging for crumbs that the Mail hadn’t already swept up and hoarded for themselves. When he found nothing that couldn’t already be gleaned from the original news story, he turned his attention to his emails. The only thing of note was a short paragraph from HR. It alerted staff to the news, urging people not to mention it to the press until Fergus had released an official statement, and even then, they should only repeat what he’d said if they had to say anything at all.

The phone’s trill shrills snapped him out of his concerned stare and startled him to his feet. The small LCD screen on the keypad flashed with “Withheld Number”, and Fergus’ hand shot out to put the receiver to his ear without thinking who it might be. John never withheld his number, not for internal calls anyway.

“Hello?” he said rigidly, rubbing a hand over his brow bone.

There was a small titter on the other end of the line and the creak of an old chair. “Is this Fergus Williams from the Npower press office?”

“Yes. Can I help you?” Holding the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he scrabbled around the desk for a pen and notepad from the top drawer. “I’m waiting on another call - we’re really rather busy today,” he added apologetically. Not that he was actually sorry, of course, but as someone who was used to being diplomatic and appreciated its uses, Fergus tended to default to it.

“Oh, I know,” said the stranger, barely hiding his mirth. The small, telling inflection of his voice made Fergus’ patience run thin, rolling his eyes, and checking his watch as the caller continued. "It’s Adam Kenyon here from the Daily Mail. Would you be willing to spare a few moments to answer a couple of questions?”

Letting a beat of silence stretch between them, the only thing that ran through Fergus’ mired mind was, ‘oh… _bollocks_.’


	3. More Calls than a Bingo Hall

**9:17 am, 6th April 2008 – Daily Mail Night Desk**

For a brief moment, Adam thought that Fergus had hung up, but then he realised the dial tone wasn’t screeching at his eardrum and there was a faint cough coming from the earpiece. If he could, Adam might have leaned further back, but the backrest of the chair rattled with every movement, and the plastic parts crunched together like bone scraping against bone in a weak joint.

“An official statement will be made in due course,” Fergus insisted, his voice taking on a light, unconcerned air tinged with professional decorum that Adam recognised as false. After spending years talking with PR officers, politicians, managers, and other dire fucking people, you managed to pick-up on the vocal ticks that betrayed their true feelings. This time, it was a quiet, barely-there, restrained laugh at the back of Fergus’ throat. One that he made again as he continued with his spiel.

“We’re taking these accusations very seriously, Mr Kenyon, and to answer questions now, before we have all the facts and we’ve assessed the situation, would be unfair on customers, staff, and journalists alike.”

Adam frowned, pushing down the scoff that was forming in his throat. He shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “But you already have all the facts. We’ve printed them in black and white for you… I’m not sure what you’re waiting for.”

“Like I said,” Fergus retorted firmly, “we’re taking these accusations seriously, and an official statement will be made in due course. We shan’t be answering any questions at this time, so I’m afraid this is somewhat of a wasted call, Mr Kenyon.”

“Adam,” he said, dropping the slip with Fergus’ name on. It sank limply to the tabletop. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll be talking a lot over the coming days and weeks, so we might as well drop the airs and graces.” He sat forward again to drain his mug of the bitter, over-brewed dregs of his hours-old coffee, making his mouth pucker.

Another snapshot of false laughter. “We can do that if you insist, Adam,” said Fergus, pausing to draw attention to his use of the forename. Like a child wanting credit for shitting in the toilet instead of on the carpet. “But there still won’t be any further comment at this point. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m waiting on another call.”

“So, when can we expect a comment, Fergus? I know our readers are eager to hear what you have to say about all this.”

Fergus let out an impatient sigh, forgetting, or not caring to, hide the disdain fermenting inside him. “I’ll have a response later today. Have a pleasant day, and thank you for your patience and understanding.”

And then the line went dead, giving out its flat heart-monitor moan.

Adam slammed the receiver back into its cradle, muttering ‘prick’ to himself, and dragged his bag and coat out from under the desk. Though, looking at the sunshine and azure expanse through the window, and the way the pavement glowed in honey, he probably didn’t need his coat today.

He was already half out the door when he stopped to lean against the doorframe for a moment, tapping his fingers against it as he sucked on his bottom lip. Looking over his shoulder at his desk, he shot back inside like a bullet from a gun, swiping Fergus’ office number and saving it into his mobile. With the slip of paper nestled in the palm of his closed hand, Adam strode across the floor of the main office, his predator stare on the back of Johnny Alcock’s greasy head.

“I need you to do something for me,” Adam told him, throwing the pathetic piece of paper with Fergus’ details on to the desk. “Find out what you can about him. I want home and mobile numbers, personal email addresses, social media accounts…anything you can get your hands on.”

Johnny raised his marker-pen eyebrows at him, and somehow, those were just as greasy as his head. “When do you want it all by?”

“As soon as possible. Ring my mobile when you have them and send them to my personal email as well.”

“Aren’t you going to be asleep?” Johnny took the paper and propped it against his mug.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adam instructed. “Just do it.”

Johnny didn’t argue further; he just nodded and promised he’d get on it as soon as he’d sent off his opinion piece to the web department, but Adam didn’t stay to listen to his pointless waffling. He headed for the stairs, jogging down them with more energy than he had, leaving him breathless by the time he reached the final step.

Loitering by the reception desk was Beverley, chatting inanely to the two receptionists with a clipboard clutched in her claw-like hands.

“Adam!” she chirped, tapping her neon-pink talons against the rigid board. Her matching lipstick accentuated the unevenness of her lips. “I sent an email, but I didn’t get a response. Would you like to sponsor me for- “

“No,” he declared. There was a darkness to his sea-blue stare that made Beverley recoil. “There’s a reason I didn’t answer, and it’s because I’d rather pierce my own fucking scrotum with one my grandmother’s knitting needles than give you any money so you can feel like Mother fucking Superior for ten minutes.”

He sauntered out of the building with heavy footsteps, Fergus Williams already banished from his mind, unaware that the next few hours would be the last time he would be far from his thoughts.

* * *

**1:04 pm, 6th April 2008 – Npower Head Office**

Fergus noticed the stench of hot fish and burnt cream coming from the kitchen microwave upon re-entering the office chamber. It hit him square in the face and practically singed his nose hairs – not even the scent of the limp, boiled to death broccoli helped to mask the odour being carried around the room via the air conditioning.

Someone at the back of the office had opened a window, but no-one had used what few brain cells they had to open one of the kitchen windows. So, that’s precisely what Fergus did as he walked in to pour another coffee for lunch, everything John had said in their meeting floating in the forefront of his thoughts. The statement he was to draft already forming.

On his way back to his desk, coffee in hand and a headache pressing settling over his eyes, the fish wanker walked by with flakes of the shit stuck between his teeth.

“Hey, Stephen,” he said, his cheeks still glowing pink from the stress. He wondered how John still had a voice after that meeting – every expletive and raised octave had turned Fergus a shade pinker as he bit his tongue and diligently listened to the stream of bullshit coming from John’s worm-like mouth. The resulting resentment had to go somewhere, or it might have consumed Fergus from the inside out. “Next time you want to microwave fish in the open-plan office, why don’t you fucking drop dead and save us all the bother of having to deal with it, eh?”

Picking fishy flesh from his teeth with his tongue, Stephen just shrugged, screwing up his nose, so he looked like the pig he was. “I wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction of my death.”

“In that case, I’ll happily piss on your extension cord and hope it fucking electrocutes you,” Fergus huffed, returning to his desk, sitting so heavily in his chair that he rolled back a few inches. He watched Stephen over his monitor, barely blinking, as he strolled through to wash his plate.

After he’d sweated out enough poison, he set about writing the company’s official statement – a statement that he was to write independently without any input from John or guiding words of regret from the other higher-ups. As he got to work on it, he didn’t see Denise walk by as she clocked out for lunch, giving him an encouraging smile.

* * *

**_OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM NPOWER:_ **

_“We were extremely disappointed and concerned when we found out that some sales staff were deliberately flouting our procedures. We set high standards – there is no place for this behaviour in our company. We will be conducting a complete and detailed investigation into the accusations and of the staff involved. The company will not tolerate such flagrant rule-breaking, and we will be implementing strict disciplinary procedures where we see fit._

* * *

**4:41 pm, 6th April 2008 – Npower Head Office**

“What the fuck was that?!” Adam demanded. His voice had taken on a scratchier, more resonant tone than it had this morning, and Fergus thought he could hear Adam trying to muffle a yawn.

He barely flinched as Adam brought forth his vexation, checking his watch and thinking about the committee papers he needed to read at home before tomorrow’s meeting with other the other councillors for their ward. “I assume you’re talking about our statement?”

“It’s so full of horseshit, Fergus, that calling it a statement feels like an insult to statements. It says nothing and yet somehow manages to be vague on that too! If this wasn’t so serious, I might have been able to congratulate you on your achievement.”

Fergus sighed, his mouth beginning to quirk up on its left edge. “I’m sorry to hear you’re so upset by it, but since there is an ongoing investigation, I can’t be any more specific than that.”

“You can’t say there’s no room for this behaviour in the company when it’s written in the fucking employee handbook!” Adam spat. “We’ve done the investigation for you. We published our findings for the world to see, and you haven’t said what you’re going to do for customers who’ve been affected. Who have been _conned_.”

The minute hand on Fergus’ watch lurched forward another minute. Another minute closer to the end of the day, another minute closer to being able to tell Adam Kenyon to fuck off. “I’m sorry, but my hands are tied,” he insisted, letting his self-righteous smile crawl to its full size. “That statement is our official and final word on the matter until after our investigations have been completed. There will be no more at this stage.”

But Adam continued like Fergus hadn’t spoken at all, his voice becoming more tightly wound as the words continued to pour out of him. Fergus wondered how long it would take for him to break completely. It seemed too easy to do, which left him feeling uneasy for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint.

“You said that you’ll be implementing strict disciplinary procedures…that sort of implies you don’t have any in place now, doesn’t it?”

Fergus’ face dropped as he read over his own statement, his heart sinking into his stomach like a grenade thrown into a river. He could feel the hairs prickling on the back of his neck, and he had the overwhelming urge to scream into a pillow, but instead, he pulled on a fake smile that Adam couldn’t see and took a deep breath.

“Look, I understand and respect that you have a job to do, but so do I, and in order to do mine, I’m going to have to hamper yours. So, why don’t you go and investigate something else for a while? Might I suggest the contents of your own colon?”

A bitter laugh floated through the receiver and into Fergus’ ear. Adam sucked air through his nose like he was walking into the bracing, early morning air and taking in the scent of some field.

“Fine,” he said smoothly, and Fergus imagined Adam would be pressing his tongue against his teeth. “Fine. I’m looking forward to speaking about this again, Fergus. I hope you have a lovely evening – don’t let the bedbugs bite, will you?”

Bewildered by this send-off but finding it trivial enough not to focus on, Fergus just shrugged. “I never do,” he said, putting down the phone with a satisfied harrumph.

* * *

**7:28 pm, 6th April 2008 – Fergus’ Dining Room.**

Several journalists had been standing outside Head Office when Fergus left just after five. They were being held back by a bald, burly security guard and being urged away whilst Celia stared them out through the impossibly clean windows, slowly chewing and popping her gum with barely concealed contempt. Thankfully, none of them knew who he was as he left, and they barely paid him any attention – they more interested in talking to members of the sales team and the managers, which meant he could slip through them quickly.

But even so, there was a small, blinking light in his subconscious that told him Adam Kenyon would accost him on his way out, despite neither of them knowing what the other looked like.

Still, after a hard day weathered like a champion, Fergus had decided to stop in at the Royal China on the way home for a chicken chow mein and a spring roll, which he’d eaten in front of the six o’clock news with a lager. Once the MSG-indued smog had passed through his body, he dragged himself to the dining table, tuning in to BBC Radio 4 on his beat-up CD player and radio, the speakers crackling and hissing as the radio sputtered into life.

Five pages into reading his committee papers on the state of the local library’s roof, the graffiti covering local bus stops, and the recent requests for council tax exemptions, all written by Matt Robinson in his overly emotional tone, Fergus was tugged back to his surroundings.

The one place he thought he would be safe from the incessant phone calls throughout the day was at home. Both of his offices existed in a constant loop of rings, trills, missed calls, and voicemails, but his quiet little house on the corner of the street should have continued to be the sanctuary it had always been. There was just one issue: he had failed to factor in Adam Kenyon and his persistence.

Fergus’ landline trilled from the hall, and he jogged towards it with the grace of a new-born deer. He curled his hand around the receiver and pressed the cold plastic to his ear.

“Hello?”

“I have a few more questions.” Adam’s voice, so quietly self-satisfied, sent a shiver of dread over Fergus’ limbs, pinging on his synapses and nerves as if he were a violin that needed tuning. And he felt just as hollow as the instrument too.

“And I’m not going to answer them,” Fergus snapped, resting his free hand comfortably on his hip. The comforting action grounded him and made his shoulders look broader – some animalistic part of his brain trying to make himself look bigger in front of a predator. “Why are you harassing me at home over this, and how did you get my number?”

“This story is in the public interest,” he said easily. “You can get anything when it’s in the public interest. And it was on the government website, _Councillor_. ‘Available night and day.’ Or that’s what it says here, anyway.”

“Yeah, for council issues, Adam, and as far as I’m aware, you’re not in my ward.”

“No, I’m not,” he admitted, his tongue dripping in rhinestone regret. “But since I’ve got you, I thought you might spare a few minutes to answer those questions from his afternoon.”

Fergus scoffed, shaking his head pointlessly since Adam couldn’t see him. Which he was thankful of now that he saw he had a small sliver of dried noodle nestled on his tie like an art nouveau tiepin. “No, I can’t. I’m busy, I’m not on the clock, and my hands are still tied. What I put out today is the official line from the company and nothing else will be forthcoming.”

“I’m not asking for another statement or new information. I’m asking you to clarify your existing statement,” Adam said firmly, impatience beginning to creep into the back of his intonations. “Surely you can do that? It’s in the public interest, and your comments will ease any negative press that might come from your piss-poor response.”

Resting a shoulder against the wall, Fergus furrowed his brows and rubbed his scratchy chin with a strained exhale. “I’m assuming you’re talking about yourself when you say negative press?”

“Naturally,” Adam admitted coolly. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if other papers picked up on your failings, Fergus.”

“If you’re expecting to get a rise out of me, I can promise you it won’t work.”

“The sooner you answer the fucking questions, the sooner I leave you alone.” There was a brief pause where Fergus could just make out the sound of typing and a woman’s whispered voice. “So, tell me, what does the investigation mean for your customers, and why did you imply the company doesn’t already have a strict disciplinary procedure?”

When Fergus thought about it for longer than a few seconds, he thought that Adam might be right – it would be easier to clarify now than later, and it probably would make the press look more favourably upon them. However, he also knew that Adam was likely to twist his words regardless, trying to smack the truth into whatever shape he thought might fit through the holes in his Fisher-Price sorting block of a paper. Plus, Fergus was already keenly aware that he couldn’t back down now. It was far too late for that – it would make the company look more unreliable than they already did. John would definitely use his balls for earrings if Fergus decided to say more without first discussing the implications with him.

So, Fergus said the only thing that seemed appropriate before hanging up the phone. “Good evening, Adam. Do consider that colon thing I mentioned earlier, yeah?”

But twenty minutes later, when he was deep in thought over the state of the bus shelter in Haredale Road and the giant jizzing cock that had been spray-painted over the side, the phone cried out again, cementing Fergus to the chair. He closed his ears to it and forced his attention back on the papers in front of him, the words beginning to lose meaning as the phone kept warbling. Deep down, Fergus knew he probably should answer – it could actually be council business this time – but instinct told him it was the journalist prick with nothing better to do.

He was only a split second away from jumping up and answering when it stopped, leaving a haunting ringing running through Fergus’ ear canal. As the sound melted away, his attention began to form again, and he shuffled back in his chair, clearing his throat of the nothing that was choking his larynx. His shoulders had only just loosened when, after another ten minutes, the phone went again.

Once again, he ignored it, only for the phone to ring again after several minutes of blessed silence. This time, he stormed towards it, ripping it from its stand.

“What? What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?!” He exclaimed sharply, his soul dropping through his feet as Matt Robinson took mild offence at being spoken to in such a tone. “Sorry…I thought you were someone else…yeah…mhm… I’m looking at them right now as it happens…yeah, yeah, not a problem. Sure, thanks for letting me know…and you. See you tomorrow.”

He replaced the receiver, only for it to ring again before he’d even let go of it. For a split second, he was torn between wanting to smash the phone against the wall or for someone else to stove his fucking head in with it.

“Me again,” Adam chirped. “When I couldn’t get through, I was almost worried you’d topped yourself.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” quipped Fergus. “Will you just piss off? When I can give you something more, I’ll let you know, along with every other fucking newspaper in England. You’re like a bout of herpes you can’t get rid of, aren’t you?”

Adam’s laughter was like nails down a chalkboard, and Fergus could hear his smirk forming. “Well, unlike you, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Instead of wasting any more breath on someone as repulsive as Adam Kenyon, Fergus hung up. He disconnected the phone for the evening, heaving a sigh of relief and crossing his fingers that he wasn’t needed as a councillor tonight.

* * *

**3:08 am, 7th April 2008 – Daily Mail Night Desk**

Jennifer looked as bland as usual with her scraped back into a severe bun, and not even the glow of her own achievement could make her features stand out from her face. As Adam read through her follow-up, he could feel her dull eyes boring into the top of his skull.

“Yeah, it’s ready for print,” he said, thrusting the pages back at her. Tonight, he could feel the dark recesses under his eyes more than usual, but the lack of sleep throughout the day had very nearly been worth it. “I think it’ll put enough pressure on them to answer sooner rather than later.”

“Still no luck with Fergus then?”

Adam rubbed his browbone, groaning. “Obviously not, or I would’ve asked you to put his response in the follow-up, wouldn’t I? Exactly how thick are you?”

“I was only asking,” Jennifer said petulantly, stomping out of the room in her brown court shoes, leaving Adam to stew in his bad mood.

He would’ve tried Fergus’ home phone number again, but he figured he wouldn’t be able to get through like the other four times he’d called that night. But he still had one number left to try, and Adam had been saving it for a time like this – when all was quiet. When he was least expecting it.

Pushing the phone to his ear again, an action he’d done more times in the last day than he had gone for a piss, Adam listened to Fergus’ mobile ring out, then to the robotic voicemail message that followed, punctuated with Fergus’ own voice. Undeterred, he hung up and tried again, and again, until he knew the exact intonation of Fergus’ personalised voicemail better than his own.

There was only one ring left before the message began to play again, and Adam had already filled his lungs ready to quote along with it like it was a line from a movie he’d seen one too many times, but before he could, a yawn greeted him, and a mumbled hello.

“Rise and shine, Fergus,” Adam said, raising his voice a fraction louder than he needed to. “I think your landline might be disconnected. Trying to get away from someone?”

“Christ Almighty,” Fergus huffed. There was a groan of mattress springs as he shifted in bed. “How the fuck did you get my mobile number as well?”

“Answer my questions, and I’ll tell you.”

“I hope you choke on your fucking tongue. Talking to you is like asking a toddler to do algebra.”

Adam hummed down the phone, barely taking notice of Fergus’ attempted insults – he’d heard far worse in the past and had probably given far worse too. “So, are you going to answer my questions or not?”

“Of course, I’m bloody not!”

Leaning forward at his desk like he was about to reveal a secret, Adam watched his team go about their work with beady eyes. When Angela came to knock on his office door, he shooed her away with a frown, gesturing to the phone like she couldn’t see it. “Aren’t you bored of this yet?”

“Incredibly,” Fergus admitted through a yawn, his movement rustling his sheets. “But I’m not going to give in to you. Why are you so insistent on bugging me over this anyway? It wasn’t you who went undercover and broke the story, it wasn’t you who wrote the story…”

Before Fergus could needle him further, Adam interrupted with a forceful shout. “Fucking buck up your ideas, Fergus. It’s not hard to answer a few simple questions, is it? Are you trying to hide something else? Is there more to this story than we think?” he wondered aloud, rubbing the back of his head. “Look, you can either answer me now, or I won’t let you sleep until you do.”

Fergus exhaled heavily, and Adam imagined him pressing his hand against his eyes, rubbing away sleep particles. He hoped those scraps pricked his corneas.

“How about this?” Fergus said eventually, finally piquing Adam’s interest, “why don’t you come down to Head Office so we can talk about this face to face? We’ll schedule a meeting.”

Raising his brows, mildly taken back by the suggestion, Adam grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper. “Really? When?”

“How about the day after tomorrow at ten-thirty?”

Adam quickly scribbled the time on his page, nodding slowly with a well of triumph building in his belly. “Alright. I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

“Great,” Fergus said, his voice lapsing into complete irritability now that he was awake, realising he probably wouldn’t get to sleep again tonight. “If I hear from you before then, I’ll be sure to mention you in my suicide note.”

The line went dead, and Adam couldn’t help but smile.


	4. Face to Face

**10:18 am, 9th April 2008 – Npower Head Office**

There was only one thing Adam noticed when he walked up to the reception desk. Okay, technically, it was two things, but they came as a pair, so they only counted as one thing, didn’t they?

The receptionist smiled at him brightly as he approached the desk, giving a final satisfying pop of her gum. If Helen at the Mail office were a pretty as this one, he probably wouldn’t mind her inane chattering every time he entered the building.

“Good morning and welcome to Npower. How can we help you today?”

“Adam Kenyon,” he said, pulling on his winning smile to expose his teeth. In his mind, they dazzled and charmed her, but in reality, Celia thought nothing of him, or his smile, whatsoever. “I’ve got a meeting with Fergus Williams at half-past.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, pushing forward the visitor’s book. The movement of her arms drew attention to how tight her floral blouse was, and she quietly registered the brief flicker of his gaze with a quiet, calculating pleasure. “If you could just sign here for me, please. Thank you,” she added as he scrawled his signature with the near-empty pen chained the desk. Celia allowed her hands to brush over Adam’s fingers as she took the pen from him, replacing it with a visitor’s pass. “If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let Mr Williams know you’ve arrived.”

The lobby was home to several grey sofas on a deep purple rug, trying to imitate a bold, modern living room to ease visitors; making them feel at home. A coffee table sat in the centre with a metallic bowl filled with potpourri that had long lost its fragrance, so it was purely a bowl of dry, dead things with no purpose. Adam thought there might have been a metaphor in there somewhere as he clipped the badge to his suit jacket and leisurely sat to face the reception desk.

He threw his arm over the back of the velvet-effect settee, crossing his leg over the other, and watched Celia call Fergus. The light hazelnut of her eyes looking like cold steel as she stared back at him, still holding a petal-soft smile that made her look like two different people. Jekyll and Hyde with tits.

The building contained more colour than the Mail’s office. Still, instead of feeling like a comforting, homely space, it seemed more like a creepy personification of the brand thanks to the jarring shades of purple, red, and blue shoehorned into the decoration. The two clocks on the wall – one displaying the time in the UK, and the other of the CEO’s second home in Cyprus - reminded him of the eyes of T.J Eckleburg, so that the whole building and everyone in it seemed to be watching over him and judging him. But no-one paid him any attention, or even gave any indication that they knew he was there – it was only Celia who had yet to draw away her attention.

“Mr Williams is running behind, but he’ll be down as soon as possible,” Celia said apologetically. “Can I get you a drink whilst you wait?”

Adam expelled a bitter breath. Fucking typical. What could Fergus be doing that was more important than attending the meeting he had set up in the first place?

“No, thanks,” he said, forcing himself to stay polite in her presence, which was ironic considering where his eyes kept gravitating to. When she shrugged and went back to chewing her gum and typing, her face setting into stony professionalism, though he suspected she was simply answering messages on Facebook.

Without even a shitty gossip magazine to keep himself occupied, Adam pressed his back against the too plump cushions and tried to focus on something that wasn’t Celia. or how the rhythmic ticking of the two clocks felt like having his skull split in two with a chisel.

It was nearing eleven when Fergus waltzed down the stairs into the lobby, joining Celia at the desk, keeping his back to Adam who was too focused on his phone to notice him anyway.

“That’s him?” Fergus asked, regarding the top of Adam’s dark head closely. Beneath his, he could see Adam’s strong nose, and he even though he was sitting down, Fergus could tell that Adam carried his long, gangly limbs with careless expertise, and perhaps even with a lick of pride.

“Yep,” Celia said, spitting her gum into the bin under the desk, smiling at the way Fergus flinched back. “He’s not happy you’re late.”

Fergus smirked. “Good. That’s what he gets for being a fucking thorn in my urethra.”

Celia tutted and shook her pretty head, the pendants hanging from the gold chain around her neck clacking quietly together. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re starting here with him, but I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I didn’t start anything.” Fergus’ eyes flickered to Adam again, his body and mind already burning with the actual reality of having to sit in a room with him. “But I’m determined to finish it,” he added, pushing himself toward his target.

From the corners of his eyes, Adam could see the shining black, lace-up shoes lurking a mere metre away from the coffee table legs. He slipped his phone into his pocket as Fergus’ voice – lighter in person than it was on the phone – greeted him with no apology for his tardiness.

“It’s great to put a face to the voice,” Fergus said, a shade too cheery for Adam’s liking as he held out his hand to him.

As Adam got to his feet to perform the traditional niceties, he forgot about the lateness for a moment. Instead, he focused on how much shorter Fergus was than he imagined and how, despite having relatively small, rodent eyes, they contained such vivid, arresting colour.

“Likewise,” he forced himself to say as he pressed his palm against Fergus’ warm skin. He could feel the deep groove of his lifeline.

“If you’d like to follow me…” Fergus said, snatching his hand back with an anachronistic smile that dimpled his cheek.

All noise – chattering, heels echoing on concrete floors, the swish of elevator doors, and the click of fingers on keyboards – disappeared as Fergus closed the heavy wood door to the meeting room at the other end of the hallway. The bottom of it scraped against the carpet and then clipped shut with a satisfying sound. Sealing them off from the rest of the building.

The room smelled like furniture polish and old coffee and was devoid of colour; it was as though Dorothy had returned to Kansas – the promise of Oz long behind her. This was an office where dreams came to die and plenty of disciplinaries, firings, and deal rejections had happened here. You could still see tear stains left by several unfortunate souls if you looked closely at the thin, grey carpet and at the soft wooden table.

“First of all,” Fergus said, taking a seat at the meeting table in front of the window, leaving Adam to take the one with the sun shining on it. “Thank you for coming.”

With a tight smile, Adam tried to angle himself away from the window. Already he was fighting the urge to barrel across the smooth polished tabletop and force his knuckles to make contact with Fergus’ perfect fucking teeth.

“Thank you for bothering to turn up at all,” he hit back, folding his hands on top of the table, squeezing his fist into his open palm.

The corners of Fergus’ mouth twitched up, and he tilted his head a fraction as he allowed himself to sit back in the chair. He’d deliberately picked the only one without a broken arm too, so he made a point of resting his elbows comfortably on them. “I’m sorry, Adam. I didn’t realise you had any other pressing issues to attend to. I figured since you’d spent a whole day and night hounding me, your diary is pretty empty.”

“If you had answered my initial questions, I would’ve been able to fill my diary with something more worthwhile, but unfortunately, you’ve decided to do this the hard way.”

For a moment, Fergus considered Adam and his pale grey face skin highlighted the dark freckles on his cheeks and wondered if being journalist could ever be worthwhile. Did Adam even enjoy it? If the bruise-like circles under his eyes were anything to go by, the answer was no. But coming to that conclusion didn’t strike Fergus with sympathy. It was his own fault for going into journalism in the first place.

“Unfortunately, you’re under the impression I have more power than I do. I physically can’t tell you any more than I have,” he admitted, watching a vein beginning to bulge on Adam’s forehead. “My hands really are tied by the higher-ups. They dictate what I say, and I’m not prepared to lose my job for you.”

“Then get your fucking managers down here to talk to me themselves!” Adam huffed, thumping his index finger against the tabletop. His frustration was so thick in his mouth that he could taste the burnt clumps of it sticking around his teeth.

Fergus’ eyes danced with delight at how rattled Adam seemed to be. Was he actually _shaking_ under his charcoal suit jacket? Did he always rub his thumb over his fingers like that? Regardless, triumphant warmth was running through Fergus like honey, and he relished in its delicious sweetness, especially when he knew there was still more to come.

“They won’t speak to the press,” he said, delivering it like he was swinging a sword for the final blow. “That’s what I’m for.”

The mid-morning light, still rising to its glorious peak, had wrapped itself around Fergus’ pale auburn hair, turning it a burnished gold that glowed like a halo around the head of Gabriel in a stained-glass window. Adam thought that, if Fergus were an angel like the sun suggested, he’d be the eldritch horror with a thousand eyes and six wings, purposefully making him uneasy with his glare and, at best, turning his life into a gruesome inconvenience.

“Then why the fuck did you ask me to come down here?!” he bellowed, raking his fingers through his hair. “You’re wasting my time and being fucking prick about it at the same time!”

Fergus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from smiling too broadly. “You were the one that called me and wouldn’t take no for an answer, aren’t you? I figured if you wouldn’t take me seriously on the phone, then you might do so in person.”

Before Adam could retort, Celia pushed open the door without so much as a knock, carrying a small tray in one hand like a seasoned waitress. Hot tea spewing steam into the air. The powdery, heady scent of her jasmine perfume choking the atmosphere to the point where both Fergus and Adam alike twitched and tickled their noses. Adam could feel the cloying fragrance sticking its fingers down his throat.

She placed the tray on the table and handed a mug to Fergus who thanked her readily, watching Adam over the rim as he sipped. When Celia gave Adam his, she did so with her flirtiest smile and stooped lower than she needed to, but Adam barely acknowledged her. Now that he had Fergus’ attention, that was all he wanted to keep. If anything, her presence was as irritating as a fly – she’d lost her appeal in mere minutes. She wasn’t new and exciting to look at, and he peered around her to keep his eyes trained on Fergus with a laser-like focus. Anger still bubbling beneath his surface.

There was no stare. No reciprocated smile or pathetic attempt at flirting, and when Celia left, she did so with a glance over her shoulder at Fergus, her skinny eyebrows furrowing close together. Fergus mirrored her expression and shrugged, shaking his head so subtly he might not have done it at all.

As Celia closed the door on them, Fergus couldn’t help but feel like a magician who had dropped his deck of trick cards.

“You expect me to take you seriously after that?” Adam said, pointing towards the door with a bitter laugh, leaning back in the chair. Fergus’ smile returned when Adam’s elbow slipped on the arm of the chair. “You’re a fucking joke, Fergus. You have one job to do, and you can’t even do that right, you haven’t actually got any power to do it with, and you’re using the receptionist as a honeytrap.”

Fergus pursed his lips, trying to keep his face as unreadable as possible, though his chest was quickening along with his heart. “She’s not a honeytrap if you don’t have any secrets.”

“In that case, you’re trying to distract me from the real issue. You’re inept and largely useless. The managers have been conning customers for years, you’re using the receptionist as a distraction, and no-one who has any actual fucking power is willing to talk to the press.” Adam raised his eyebrows and then his mug to his lips, blowing gently on the steam with a diamond stare. Fergus looked his best when obscured by vapour. “It doesn’t look good, and it almost makes me think this company might be hiding something else.”

A sharp, disbelieving laugh escaped from Fergus’ throat, and he relaxed in his chair again, feeling his shoulders unwind in an instant. “What an absurd conclusion to jump to.”

“Then talk to me,” Adam implored, dropping his voice into a stark warning. “If you stay quiet, if you don’t clarify your statement or stance, the rumour mill will spiral. It will build and build until it crushes you and tears down the reputation of the company. Eventually, other employees will talk on your behalf, frustrated they don’t have a voice on what’s happening in their workplace, revealing other dodgy practices. I’ve seen it happen to others, and I’m sure I’ll see it again. You can make this story go away. All you have to do is answer a few questions.”

Fergus raised his eyebrows, surprising himself at his own surprise at Adam’s tenacity. He’d not shown any signs of giving up, so why he thought that might change now, he didn’t know. “That’s quite the speech, but I’m afraid nothing has changed. I won’t be saying more than I have, and when I do, it won’t be a statement I give to a specific journalist. There’s not a chance in hell I’ll give any paper special treatment.” He paused a beat, catching Adam’s dark eyes in his. “And especially not to the Daily Mail.”

“You’re your own worst enemy, Fergus. I hope you know that.”

“No,” he insisted easily. “You, and John, the sales manager, are my worst enemy. Usually, it’s just John and how he plucks his nose hair at his desk, but you’ve taken precedence over the last few days.”

Adam exhaled evenly, looking at the whorls in the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. Every second he sat there was a second wasted – he knew he could’ve spent the day catching up on his sleep instead of arguing the toss with the personification of a bout of violent diarrhoea. The bloody kind you should go to the hospital for. And yet, it was like his arse was suctioned to the chair, and he couldn’t find the energy to pull himself off it.

“I almost want to be flattered,” he said, raising his face to Fergus again.

Sitting forward again, Fergus wrapped his hand around his mug, considering Adam with a slow tilt of his head. “You never answered my questions the other day,” he said as if Adam hadn’t spoken at all.

“What questions?”

“Why is it you who’s coming to me with this?” Fergus asked with a simple shrug. “Why is it you who’s taking the lead on this story? It was Jennifer who weaselled her way in here, Jennifer, who collected the information, Jennifer who wrote the story…why isn’t she demanding further answers?”

Adam blinked several times in quick succession as the rusted cogs in his skull turned and his mouth opened and closed like a dim-witted goldfish. “Because I’m the fucking night editor and I can do what I want with my paper and the stories in it.”

“I know that already,” Fergus said dismissively. “What I don’t know if why you have such a special interest. Surely there are more interesting stories you can pursue. Why don’t you decide which food is going to give us cancer this week? Or put out another think piece on saint fucking Diana.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. I’m not the one under scrutiny here or being accused of fraud.”

“We’re being accused of overselling; there’s a big difference. And you should know since you’re the one accusing us in the first place.” Sipping the last of his tea, Fergus laughed into the mug, so the sound echoed back at him and punched his nose. “But that’s beside the point. If you’re not answering questions, then I’m certainly not.”

“I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.” Finally, Adam found his legs’ strength to raise himself up, but Fergus stayed seated, unconcerned.

“Personally, I don’t think this has been a waste of time,” he said brightly. “It feels like you realise how serious I am about my job. Hopefully, you’ll let me get on with my job, and you’ll be patient and trust that we’re doing all that we can to ensure this sort of corruption is stamped out of the company.”

Adam’s nostrils twitched as he paced to the door. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Would you like me to walk you out?” Fergus asked gleefully, his cheeks turning rose. “Or perhaps I can ask Celia?”

“I can show myself out, thanks,” Adam mumbled, pulling open the door. “Patronising fucker.”

He made his way through the corridor with heavy footsteps, groaning to himself and wishing he could wipe that fucking shit-eating grin of Fergus’ hamster-fucking-face. When he reached the reception desk, he ignored Celia’s sing-song goodbye and stepped into the cool sunlight.

As the light touched his skin, the tension embracing Adam ascended above him, and his mind cleared. He was a journalist, wasn’t he? If Fergus or the managers wouldn’t talk, then he would just have to find someone who would.

Back in the meeting room, Fergus was laughing and punching the air, satisfied with a job well done. The sense of freedom he felt helped to wick away the scent of desperation and misery that had soaked into the building’s walls over the years. He could’ve fucking danced out of that room as he took his empty mug and Adam’s barely touched one back to reception.

Natalie Keyes gave him a bewildered grimace as he bid her a chipper good morning on his way.

“He looked miserable as sin,” Celia told him, taking back the mugs. She was once again chewing on her gum, sickly sweet artificial strawberry emanating from her mouth. “I assume it means all went well for you then?” She added, clocking Fergus’ over-stretched smile.

“Oh yes,” he said shrewdly, knocking his knuckles against the glass table in an upbeat rhythm. The excellent mood would last until he slipped into calming unconsciousness that night. “With any luck, that should be the last I hear from Adam Kenyon.”


	5. The Domino Effect

**10:34 am, 10th April 2008 – Daily Mail ~~Night~~ Day Desk **

Overtime on the day shift was a fucking nightmare, only worse than that because Adam was actually awake to experience the horrors first-hand. No amount of pinching himself would cause him to open his eyes at home, tucked up in his warm bed with the sun already beginning to set on another day.

Unfortunately, he was sharing his office with his daytime counterpart, trying to block out the sounds of cheerful, well-rested journalists on the other side of the wall chatting and laughing, excitement for the weekend already beginning to bubble. They offered one another cups of tea from across the room, sang along to music on the radio, and were all generally being irritating cunts.

"I'll be completely anonymous, won't I?" said the anxious voice down his ear. Adam pressed his palm over his other ear to block out Gerry Matthews' noise, announcing his weekend fishing plans to Viagra Vinnie.

"Of course," Adam said sweetly. "Tell me what you know, and I promise it won't get to your boss."

The voice hummed nervously. "It's just…everyone knows that the press has been hanging around Fergus and he's not saying anything. It won't take a genius to figure out where this information is coming from. It can only be the sales team."

Adam sighed and scratched his forehead, swallowing a fat yawn that pulled on the muscles in his jaw. "We've done this sort of thing hundreds of times, if not thousands – no-one's gonna know. And if you're that concerned about it, don't say anything at all. Just don't waste my fucking time."

"Fine." The Npower employee took a deep breath and then let it out slowly through their teeth. "Our manager, John, he pits us all against each other and says the person who oversells the least, if that makes sense, is fired."

"And does he make good on that promise?"

"Sometimes. He doesn't always do it, but he does it enough to keep us on our toes, you know? None of us wants to be last every month just in case we catch John on a bad day. He's not the nicest of bosses, and he intimidates us more than we intimidate the customers…but I know that's no excuse for how we behaved."

When Viagra Vinnie snorted like a hog at something banal that Gerry said, Adam was just a hair's breadth away from locking himself in the stationery cupboard or driving his biro in Vinnie's soft fucking baby temples. But he ignored those fleeting thoughts, hoping to save room in his head for something to bait Fergus with.

"If you hate it that much, then why don't you quit?"

There was a scoff on the other end of the phone. "I've got principles, sure, but I've also got three kids to feed and a mortgage."

Adam nodded slowly, his tongue dancing over his bottom lip as he tried to stop himself from asking the question he knew he would anyway. So, when it came, he didn't bother beating himself up over it or wonder why he wanted to score a cheap personal point.

"What about Fergus Williams? Can you tell me anything about him?"

"No," the salesperson said. Adam didn't ask for their name, and they didn't offer it up freely. "Other than he's got a second job as a councillor, I don't really know him. We don't get to speak to Head Office people much, so anything we learn about them comes through John after he's been there. As far as I'm aware he hasn't got a problem with Fergus."

Rubbing his hand over his face, Adam groaned to himself, thinking this conversation had all been rather pointless. Anything this employee had said wasn't new, but at least it would give a personal flavour. He could twist it and make the kids the focus: "Npower bosses will let my kids starve if we don't follow their corruption rules." Or something like that anyway. It was hard to come up with a headline when Frank was twittering on about fishing flies.

It had been a long shot to ask about Fergus. No one else from the city's sales team had anything to say, let alone the ones from across the country. He really needed to get someone from Head Office to talk…but that seemed like an impossible task. Surely no-one in Head Office had any reason to give up what they knew.

He briefly considered needling Celia for information, but she had seemed too pleased by her small role in the saga to give up that minutiae of power.

"Thank you," he said down the phone. "You've been really helpful."

He used his finger to hang up, keeping the phone against his ear, and then dialled the next number. Margaret from Coventry, seventy-six years old and unable to work a fucking computer.

She croaked down the phone, and Adam ended up having to shout his questions. When Frank and Vinnie gave him dirty looks, he flipped them off and turned his back on them, shouting louder.

"They came barging in, and I couldn't do anything to stop them," she said, and Adam could imagine her clutching her costume jewellery pearls.

"They?"

"Two of the little scoundrels! Came barging in they did, saying something about tariffs and God knows what else. I didn't understand a word of it, of course. All too technical for me." She paused to blow her nose into what could only be a soggy, cold handkerchief. "But they kept saying I was paying too much for my energy and all that, promising they could get me a better deal. Well, they were quite forceful about it, and it worried me. They said if I didn't sign their paperwork now, their better offer would expire. It was a one-off deal."

Adam was doodling circles on his notepad as he listened. "So, you signed?"

"Well, of course, dear. I had no reason to think they were lying," Margaret admitted. "Besides, they were here for hours telling me all sorts, and I didn't think they'd leave unless I signed. It was horrible, really."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Margaret," Adam said through his teeth as he stifled another yawn. "We're doing our best to expose these cheats and liars for you…have you had any contact from Npower since we exposed them for what they are?"

"Not a peep, darling. I've not heard a thing, and as far as I'm aware, I'm still paying more than I should be. I was hoping to use some of my pension to go and visit my grandchildren in Australia, you see…"

Adam rolled his eyes; boredom had well and truly set in. He always fucking hated this part – talking to the public to get their view. They rarely had anything of worth to add to the story and, more often than not, they used being interviewed by the press as a chance to claim their fifteen minutes or vent their frustrations. Some, usually the elderly, used it as an excuse to have a chat, but Adam didn't have the time or the temperament for it.

"I'm sure all that can be easily sorted," he said quickly, tapping his pen against his nose. "Did the sales team say or do anything else whilst they were there?"

"As I said, I didn't really understand what they were going on about. They worried me, and I just wanted them out of the house."

The noise was starting to die down in the office. Now most everyone had caught up with one another, though how much they had to catch up on with one another just one evening apart was anyone's guess. As the day journalists settled slowly into their quiet routines, Adam could feel his irritation receding like the shore or Gerry's hairline. And with only two people left to call before he could go home, things were starting to look up.

* * *

**10:34 am, 10th April 2008 – Npower Head Office**

"He's been talking to some of the sales reps," Denise said, falling into a chair at Fergus' desk. She was smiling despite this revelation and had a twinkle in her eye as Fergus looked up from his computer, only half listening.

"What are you blathering on about now?"

Denise swung herself round in the spinning chair, her knees knocking against the desk, so it caused everything to jump. Her sheepish smile turned her face a flushing puce when Fergus frowned at her. "That guy from the Mail," she explained, leaning her elbows on the tabletop. "The one you've been arguing with. He somehow managed to leave his details with someone and now sales staff up and down the country are giving their version of events."

For a brief moment, Fergus' fingers hovered over his keyboard, a frown playing on his mouth and tugging at his eyebrows. A flash of concern tinged with everything that could go wrong raced through his mind. Sending shivers up and down his nerves - and Adam was getting on every last one of them.

Even thinking about him now made his gut twist, but he took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool as Denise watched him closely. Dismissing the early signs of anxiety, Fergus brought his fingers down on the keyboard.

"Well, they won't say anything incriminating if they know what's good for them," Fergus retorted casually, but the words set his teeth on edge. "Or John will staple their bloody tongues to his balls."

Denise tittered. To most, her laugh was light and pretty, like it was being sighed out by blooming roses, but to Fergus, it sounded insipid and awkward. His cheek twitched as she leaned closer. There was something about her slow movements and the nervous picking of her thumb that made him more uneasy than Adam ever could. She reminded him of Celia, but Denise was nowhere near as cartoony as her, which was infinitely more terrifying.

"That'll hurt him more than them," she pointed out. A pink sliver of her tongue appeared through the gap in her front teeth when she smiled. "I'm sure it won't make a huge difference to what's going on. You're doing well at containing it, and I can't imagine what else he'll try and throw at you."

Fergus raised an eyebrow at her, pressing his lips together as he considered this point. He was doing rather well, wasn't he? He'd stayed steadfast, and he'd rattled Adam, perhaps even on more than one occasion. His message had clearly gotten through since he was bothering with the sales staff. And nothing more nefarious had gotten into the public – not that there really was anything nefarious to get out per se, but nothing else had been discovered.

"Thanks," he said with a shrug, dropping his eyes down to his screen again. "Is that all, or is there another reason you're hanging around here like a fart in a lift?"

In an instant, Denise straightened her back in the chair, her face becoming soft with doe-eyes – a fraction of vulnerability and alarm in them. Fergus barely noticed the change in her demeanour as he remembered he was supposed to be painting a primary school fence with the PTA on Saturday. All the while, his fingers typed out a press release for his media list regarding the company's new 'price freeze' gas and energy prices – a scheme that the CEOs had requested be brought forward following the Daily Mail's story

"Actually," Denise said, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks and neck had become warm to the touch. "I was just coming by to ask if you'd like to go out sometime." The words came out quickly, and Fergus snapped up his head, staring as though he were about to be hit by a car. "I just… I'd thought I'd ask. You're good at what you do, you care about people, and we have fun when we talk, don't we?"

_Oh, fuck no._

Fergus' heart had jumped into his mouth, and his skull suddenly seemed to be filled with cotton wool, the soft fibres sprouting as far as his ears and toning down the world's volume. There was no chance in hell he was going to tell her the truth, so he gabbled nonsense at her for a moment as the cogs turned.

"Sorry," he said frowning. "Um… you're not my type."

If anything, this just seemed to spurn her on. Which on reflection, Fergus really should have known. Denise was always taking on challenges in the office, both personally and professionally. The hungry look in her eyes whenever someone was having a catastrophe in the office with their workload or her demon smile when she announced she had run another marathon, but this time dressed as a fucking hippo, ought to have been a dead giveaway.

"Oh, come on," she crooned, her smile faltering by a mere millimetre. "Give me a chance, and let's just see what happens. You never know until you try."

Fergus rubbed his fingers over his forehead, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "Well, I have no desire to scald my cock and balls either, but I'm not about to shove my dick in a toaster to see if I'll change my mind."

He turned his attention back to his work, mentally patting himself on the back, and hoping she would go away on her own now.

"Going for a drink with someone and toasting your own cock are two very different experiences," Denise pointed out. "It'll be a laugh, even if it doesn't go anywhere." she insisted.

Christ, it was like she had her claws in Fergus' leg and wasn't planning on ever letting go – just slowly drawing blood with every flex until he was on the brink of death. For the first time this week, he wished that Adam would ring.

Adam and his familiarly awful version of persistence.

Adam and his predictable questions Fergus knew how to answer.

Adam and his insults that were easier to take than Denise's attempt at kindness.

_Adam._

But no matter how intensely Fergus fixed his eyes on his phone, it stayed silent, and Denise kept talking. Slowly but surely chipping away at his patience, but even so, he still wasn't prepared to tell her the real reason why he said no. It was a conversation Fergus didn't want to get into – times were changing, sure, but they weren't doing so quickly enough, and it was far less complicated this way. Or at least, so he had thought.

"I don't want to go for a drink with you," he reiterated, a blood vessel in this temple was so engorged that his skin had a purple bruised hue. "You're about as interesting and fun as a fucking colonoscopy, and I'd still rather do that than sit with you for longer than five minutes out of the office." He could see her face turning to stone, but now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. Words kept falling from him, and with every syllable, a new brick was added to the wall forming between them. "It's almost like you're too thick to realise how dull you are. No-one is fucking listening to you at any point, ever. In fact, I lose a point off my IQ every time you speak. By the time this little date you've concocted in your head for us is over, you'll have to wheel me into a nursing home because with any luck, half dead with dementia."

It was a shame. Denise had been the only barely tolerable one of the lot. She just had to go and ruin it, didn't she?

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, rising from his chair and collecting his cold mug, "I'm off to do something more worthwhile with my time than arguing with you about this. Like spoon my own fucking eyes out," he added with a murmur as he stormed past her to the kitchen.

He didn't know it, but this was a fatal mistake depending on how you viewed it. Leaving Denise alone and confronted with her humiliation and shattered pride, she made a split-second choice and found Adam's phone number on Fergus' speed dial.

* * *

**9:48 pm, 10th April 2008 – Daily Mail Night Desk**

As he trudged back into his office, soaking in the quiet of the three zombie staff who had come in early for whatever reason, Adam thought that he might as well bring his fucking wardrobe to this soulless box of a place.

He fell back into his desk chair with a sigh, knowing it was to be another long night. Yes, it was his fault for refusing to let go of this story, but at this point, it was a matter of principle. He wouldn't have cared if Fergus hadn't fought back or tried to goad him on. So technically, the lack of sleep was all Fergus Williams' fault.

"But the shoe is about to be on the other foot," he mumbled to himself as he logged into his computer and set about phoning Fergus' landline once more.

Like he was expecting it, he answered after only a few rings. "Hello?"

"Hello again," Adam said, scrolling through his emails. More Npower staff had sent emails with their stories in the hours he'd been away from his desk – it seemed he was spoilt for choice on what to use. "I trust you're having a pleasant evening?"

"I was until about ten seconds ago," Fergus said, though Adam could sense a hint of gentle amusement behind Fergus' tone. He wasn't sure he liked it. "What can I do for you this time? Is it more of the same? I hope so since I'm sure I'll ever get bored of this particular record."

Adam couldn't help but smile – an action that grew wider when Angela walked in with a brown wallet of pages, her face a picture of confusion as she handed it to him and disappeared again with a look over her shoulder as he devoured the information.

"I just wanted to let you know that I've been talking with some of your company's staff."

With an exaggerated yawn, Fergus said, "yes, I already know. You're falling behind, Adam."

Prick. "Well, we're running with a follow-up in the morning with statements made by staff, some of which might have to make a further statement about."

A joyful chuckle floated through the line, and Adam could see Fergus' throat and the elegant bob of his Adam's apple in his mind's eye as Fergus laughed. "Oh, so you're trying to get another statement out of me? Sorry, but it's not happening. The company's stance is still the same, and we'll review the situation in due course. Thanks for the heads up though. I look forward to reading it and then wiping my arse on it in the morning."

"You're not even slightly curious about what the sales team have to say? Or what your customers had to say when I asked them for their thoughts?"

"Not particularly," he said carelessly. "Not in the way I think you want me to."

Adam leaned his back against the chair, the notches of his spine digging into the flat cushion. He licked his finger before opening Angela's file, perusing the pages with a degree of interest, scanning them for keywords he could use. There wasn't much – but his eyes were instantly drawn to Fergus' name whenever it cropped up.

"What about what I know about you, Councillor?" Adam teased darkly. "Are you interested in that?"

A pause gave Adam his answer, but Fergus did his best to make it sound otherwise. "What are you talking about?"

"The thing is, Fergus, since you've been wilfully difficult, I asked my team to look into you," Adam admitted proudly, smoothing his tie with the flat palm of his hand. He wished Fergus could see his smirk. "I asked Npower staff about you too as I was doing my rounds, and some were very eager to talk. Now, here's the problem. I don't think the council or your ward would be too happy to hear what I've discovered."

"You haven't discovered anything," Fergus retorted vehemently, his voice becoming cold like ice. But like ice, it was brittle too. You just had to strike it in the right way.

Adam's fingertips and chest sparked with anticipation, and the office's pale amber glow had never felt more like the sun. "You're a well-liked member of the council, as far as I can tell. You're good at what you do, and you seem to enjoy it. But I wonder if your blossoming political career will be so easy for you if I publish what I know? I wouldn't be surprised if you lost your position in the council if this got out. It would be a shame for your community to lose your new age politics, wouldn't it?"

"You're bluffing," Fergus jeered, his voice sounding tauter than usual.

"Are you prepared to take that risk?"

A thick fog settled over the line and Adam could hear Fergus breathe, so quiet was everything else. His hand tightened around the warm plastic of the receiver.

"What do you want, Adam?" Fergus said, snapping the tension and causing the world to jerk forward once again. Suddenly, the surroundings for both of them seemed brighter, more exciting.

"Dinner," he said bluntly, scratching at his jaw which was now beginning to grow dark with stubble. "Saturday night. We have a lot to discuss, and I don't think this is something you're going to want to do in the office."

" _Dinner_?" he repeated incredulously. When Adam didn't say anything back, Fergus sighed, trying to convey just how vexing he found the whole situation. "Alright. I still think you're bluffing, but out of professional and personal curiosity, I'll meet you for dinner."

"Wise decision," Adam told him, pushing down his joy so he could sound as threatening as his mood would let him. "I'll email you the details soon. Sleep well, Fergus, and good luck tomorrow."

After hanging up, Adam allowed himself a minute to sit and do nothing – savouring the delight in his own personal atmosphere before the rest of his night staff arrived to ruin it. The minute passed slowly but beautifully, and he even felt enchanted by the wispy, dark candyfloss clouds that drifted past the golden moon that was steadily rising in the sky, which he watched from the window with a quiet smile.

When he poured himself his first coffee of the night, that usual piss-flavoured bitterness was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.


	6. A Game of Semantics

**8 pm, 11th April 2008 - A French restaurant somewhere in London that neither can pronounce the name of.**

Thankfully, the rain had stopped at seven-thirty, but it left little reflecting pools dotted around the streets, all of them being touched by streetlamps, so they glowed amber like thick puddles of honey glueing the pavement together.

Fergus dodged one as he walked, his umbrella still up just if the British weather decided to turn once more, and ended up stepping into a different puddle altogether. Murky water splashing over his polished shoes and drenching the hems of his new suit trousers. He whinged to himself under his breath and kicked each leg out like a dog as he turned into the right street.

The restaurant was smaller than Fergus had been expecting and, from this angle, seemed to be on fire. The windows were glowing orange like the puddles, and a warm light emanated from it, turning the dingy, dreary world of London into something from a Vincent Van Gogh painting. Even the few pinpricks of stars he could see above him added to the ambience.

If he were honest, Fergus had been half-expecting to turn up to a one-star joint where the staff looked like they wiped their snot-and-soot laden noses on their aprons and spat in the soup. So, when he walked in to be met by a well-turned-out Maître D' who took his umbrella and coat, he was immediately suspicious.

“Name?” The Maître D' said, hanging up Fergus’ coat. The bristles of his moustache twitched as he spoke.

“Kenyon.”

“Mr Kenyon has already arrived,” the man with the moustache said, beckoning for Fergus to follow him.

The floorboards barely made a sound as they walked and as they headed further into the restaurant and towards the kitchen. Onions and garlic scenting the air on a bed of jus. It was a nice place – candles on the tables, no weird stains on the walls or clumps of dust sitting around the light fittings. Even the tablecloths were made from actual linen instead of limp polyester. It was just a shame that the atmosphere was marred by Adam’s profile coming into view.

Silently, the Maître D' left to let Fergus finish the rest of the journey on his own as another pair of diners entered.

Fergus took a breath and told himself that all this would be over soon – Adam had nothing, and they both knew that. All of this was just for show and Fergus was well aware that Adam was doing his best to unnerve him, but it wouldn’t work. Fergus was an upstanding member of the community, after all. There had been one or two misdemeanours as a child, but nothing that no other child hadn’t done. Shoplifting, truancy, that kind of thing. Nothing serious.

He’d been a model student at school and had gone on to be an excellent student at university too. President of the Student Union, secretary, and indeed, founder, of the Liberal Democrat Society, and a member of the Squash Rackets Club, he had a glowing record even beyond his First in his undergraduate degree in Communications and the Distinction in his master’s in Political and Economic Sociology.

Aside from dodgy-quality photos from nights out like all former students had, there was nothing he could know from university either. It didn’t matter how many times he surveyed his own past; he came up empty every time – he was squeaky clean and proud of it. And, if Adam had looked him up, he’d know his accomplishments, and with any luck, Adam would feel grossly inadequate.

With a new sense of confidence, Fergus took a sure step to the table, painting on his most charming smile as he tapped his breast pocket, feeling the stable weight of his phone there and praying the battery would last.

Adam saw him from the corner of his eye and got to his feet, throwing a napkin over his Sony with a careless hand. He had come without a tie and upon seeing Fergus’ felt a sudden stab of uncertainty at his choices – but it flitted away again with a dull hiss like a candle being snuffed out.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, clasping Fergus’ stiff hand.

“It’s not like I had anything better to do,” Fergus retorted with a tight-lipped smile, smoothing his tie as they both took their seats.

Adam just hummed, pouring Fergus a glass of water from the jug covered in condensation on their table. “How did the school fence painting go?” he asked, clocking the dried white flecks of paint under Fergus’ nails and the small, dried swipe of it on the pad of his thumb.

“You’ve been watching me.” It wasn’t a question. Fergus stared at Adam coldly, noticing how the glow from the candle highlighted the spattering of freckles on the left side of his face.

“Not at all,” Adam insisted airily, pretending to peruse the menu. He already knew what he wanted as he glanced at Fergus and continued with a shrug. “You posted it on your Facebook page.”

Fergus sipped the cold water, feeling it drop into his warm belly, so the uncomfortable sensation made him shiver. “Facebook is a great way to connect with the people in the ward. It’s never been easier to talk to people or share information.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“It sounded like you were,” Fergus sighed quietly, casting his eyes over the menu too. The quiet descending over the table was louder and more apparent than the clanging in the kitchen or the babbling of couples and friends at other tables. “Expensive place,” he noted, choking back his surprise at the cost of the duck. “Is journalism finally paying off for you?”

Adam smirked, running his index finger over his lips as if he were deep in thought. “Don’t worry, I’m not prepared to spend a penny on you.” He closed the menu and dropped it on the table with a pathetic thud. “It’s all going on expenses.”

“Of course it is,” Fergus exhaled, rolling his eyes.

Before Adam could respond, a waiter had appeared seemingly from nowhere, his stiff back, starched monochrome suit, and bushy eyebrows reminding him of an emperor penguin. “Can I get you any drinks, Sir?”

“A bottle of your cheapest red,” Fergus said without skipping a beat. “And a bottle of rat poison if you have it.”

The waiter frowned, and Adam had to cram his laughter back into his throat.

“Just the wine please,” he said. When the waiter had trotted away, Adam turned his attention back to Fergus and the worry lines crinkling around his eyes. “Considering why we’re here, wine is a bold choice, isn’t it? You’re not worried about accidentally incriminating yourself?”

“Not at all,” Fergus answered with a smile. “I have nothing to hide, and so I have nothing to fear. But if I’m going to have to sit through this dinner with you, then I’d rather not do it sober.”

Adam nodded, his mouth turning up at the corners as the waiter arrived with the wine, pouring a glass for each before leaving the rest of the bottle on the table and taking their food orders. Neither man really cared what they ate, and they weren’t particularly hungry for food. The hunger lied in the crux of the matter.

They both reached for their wine glasses, taking long grateful sips over the candle, wondering who would mention it first. In the darkness, the firelight doing nothing but accentuating the shadows of their faces, it was hard to see their eyes, and even harder to gauge what the other was thinking. There were just two black holes where the soul should be.

“Are we going to get this over with or not?” Fergus said pointedly, bringing his simple goblet down like a tyrant king, wine sploshing against the wall of the glass. The tannins had turned his mouth sour and dry.

Adam grinned as he spotted the flair of Fergus’ nostrils and the way his jaw clenched. Even the sight of Fergus’ bulging brow as he frowned filled Adam with a power-rich desire that made his mouth water and stomach lurch.

It was all too tempting to drag everything out. To torture Fergus and see how long it took for him to break, to say something he shouldn’t. Despite being unable to see it under the napkin, Adam carefully lined his phone to be parallel with the edge of the table. This was the most fun he’d had since he tried to pull the same trick on some soap star had been promptly slapped with a restraining order.

“Did you enjoy our follow-up article?” he said. “I wrote it just for you.”

“It was nothing I couldn’t have anticipated, but I was surprised to see your name on it, I’ll admit,” Fergus said after swallowing another mouthful of wine. “I was starting to think you couldn’t write and you were just the brutish oaf that bullied people into giving you your own way.”

Chuckling, Adam nodded, relaxing further into his chair. His hand was draped over the rim of his wine glass like he was going to pick it up with only his fingertips. “I don’t bully them.”

“What would you call it then?”

Adam screwed up his nose and mouth as he thought about it, unaware that Fergus was staring at the little crinkles over the bridge of his nose. “Putting pressure on people to tell the truth. I’m committed to finding the truth however I can.”

“By bullying them,” Fergus said bluntly.

“By being unrelenting,” Adam fired back quickly. “It’s not my problem if you, or anyone else, sees it as bullying.”

Fergus shook his head, a disbelieving smirk taking over his face. “See, that’s the thing I hate about journalists. The semantics.”

“You’re a fucking press officer,” Adam pointed out incredulously. The absolute bloody nerve of the man. “You do almost exactly the same as me…carefully choosing words to suit your own means.”

“We have very different means.”

“Not really. It’s the pay packet at the end of the day, isn’t it? We can pretend to be high-and-mighty and say it’s because we’re trying to do the right thing… we’re trying to tell the truth, help people, and keep our organisations looking good…but it’s the money. Even for you, it’s the cash. If being a councillor paid more, I suspect you wouldn’t even bother with Npower.”

 _Tedious_. That was the best way to describe this conversation and Fergus had already had enough, but he was disappointed to discover that he’d only been sat down for fifteen minutes when he glanced at his watch.

“I know where all this is leading,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. Realising that they covered his breast pocket in this position, he rereleased them, spying a glint in Adam’s eye as he watched him. Oh, fucking hell, he thinks I’m nervous, he thought. “You’re not getting anything else from me – this is another waste of our time. How many times are you going to make us hash out the same argument?”

Adam considered this for a moment. Unfortunately, Fergus had a point – this was tiring, and Adam could be spending the evening with a bottle of whisky, and a documentary on…fuck knows. It’s not like he’d be watching it anyway – it was just to keep the silence at bay.

“You can’t be happy about what’s happening at Npower,” he said thoughtfully. “If you’re as noble and as principled as your political career makes out, the way your bosses are handling this scandal must feel pretty shit.”

“Actually,” Fergus said pompously, “the way my bosses are treating the staff and customers feels pretty shit. They’re handling it exactly as I expected them to and I have no feelings towards that.”

“Don’t you want to change that though?” Adam asked eagerly, sitting forward to refill Fergus’ wine glass. “You’re full of big ideas and values and beliefs, and whatever,” he said, filling his own glass. He placed the empty bottle back on the table. “Fuck, at times, you even seem _hopeful_.” He practically spat the word because it felt so strange sitting heavy on his tongue. “Researching your political career was sickening, actually.”

Fergus ground his teeth together and huffed and exhale through his nose. His fist was tightly closed on top of the table. “What’s your point, Adam?”

“If you talk to me, you might be able to change things.”

“Yes, namely my employment status,” he said, sipping from his glass greedily.

This was the opening Adam needed. It was almost too perfect. Sometimes, he could forget just how easy investigative journalism could be when wine, charm, and flattery was involved. All he had to do now was clamp his jaws around Fergus. “I can change that for you too if you _don’t_ talk to me. You just have to decide which side you’d prefer to be on.”

For the first time, Fergus entertained the idea of actually talking to Adam and telling him what he wanted to know, and perhaps, even more besides. He wondered what would happen if he spoke freely to the Mail. Maybe he would be fired, perhaps they would have no idea it was him if Adam were feeling kind. It would probably be a big story for a while and then fizzle out in a matter of weeks as someone or something new became the unfortunate focus of media spin. Adam would surely leave him alone once the chase was over.

But, despite his morals, banishing thoughts of conned customers from his mind, Fergus smiled. “I know where I stand, but it’s not the answer you want.”

Adam and Fergus leaned back in their chairs as the food arrived, both of them being made suddenly aware of how close they were leaning toward one another. They smiled politely with tight lips, and Adam ordered another bottle of wine which was promptly brought over uncorked.

“Not to sound corny,” Adam said after the waiter had disappeared to another table, “but when I was reading through what I discovered about you, I realised that we’re more alike than you might think.”

“Is that so?” Fergus said through a yawn, slicing into his chicken.

With wine clinging to the corner of his mouth, Adam used the back of his hand to wipe it away instead of his napkin. “Do you still play squash?”

Fergus eyed Adam suspiciously through his thick lashes, further feigning disinterest when really, this was the most magnetic Adam had ever been. Despite the fact this was a work thing underneath it all, there was something about the candles, the wine, and the suspense that made Adam someone Fergus wanted to talk to. A fact that made his skin crawl and prick like a thousand ants were scuttling over his body.

“Sometimes,” he said flatly.

“Do you prefer to play with PAR scoring or HIHO?”

“PAR,” Fergus answered, cocking an eyebrow. He had slowed carving his chicken now that his attention was being piqued by Adam.

But Adam just nodded, chewing his underdone beef thoughtfully like it was the only thing he wanted to experience. “I should’ve guessed,” he said, waving his fork as he swallowed. “HIHO is far too old-school for you.”

Fergus sniffed, tapping his fingers against his wine glass. He tried to dislodge a scrap of chicken from between his molars with the tip of his tongue. “I assume you’re a Hand-in Hand-Out player then?”

“No, I like to leave that shit for the Victorians,” Adam said quickly, revelling in Fergus’ urge to point out that scoring system only fell out of favour four years ago. “So, let me see if I can score a point with this rally…” he paused to take a gulp of his wine, his eyes trained on Fergus’. “When you were at uni, did the cocaine make you a better or worse player?”

The question made Fergus choke on his green bean, and he had to cover his mouth with his napkin. Other diners turned to stare, fear in their faces as Fergus wheezed the vegetable out of his airway and Adam insisted he would be fine in a moment.

When the offending bean had been dealt with, and Fergus had down a few mouthfuls of wine, he laughed. “I’m sorry, is this why you dragged me here?”

“I’ve never taken cocaine before,” Adam said with a shrug, “so I thought I’d ask.”

Fergus’ face soured as Adam’s amused gaze pierced him. The smugness of his stature an expression far more insulting than the invasion into his privacy. It was so trivial, he’d almost forgotten about it himself. “How did you find out?”

“I’m thorough with my investigations, and people like to talk.” Pride was infused into his voice like it was a crucial ingredient to his very being. “So, you don’t deny it?”

“No,” he said smoothly, patting the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “But if you’re as thorough as you say you are, you’ll know that I took it at a party in university once, it made me feel fucked for a week, and I never touched it again. Let alone played squash on it. It’s really rather a non-story.”

Adam hummed and scratched his nose. “I know…but since I’m in the game of semantics, it wouldn’t be hard to spin the story, would it? Councillor Williams and his expensive coke habit. Hanging around schools and fixing playgrounds with dust still clinging to his snot. Can Npower’s statements be trusted when the press officer is off his face on blow?”

If it weren’t so ridiculous, Fergus might have laughed. “So, I was right the other day,” he said, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth. Though he was sure the chefs were experts, it was suddenly bland on his tongue. “You were bluffing the whole time, and you’re merely trying to frighten me.”

“Is it working? Because if the idea doesn’t, I’d love to see you shit yourself in front of the council and your bosses when they read it in the paper.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Adam, I’ve never actively shied away from it,” Fergus fired back, dropping his knife and fork with a cacophonous clatter. “It was a bit of cocaine a million fucking years ago at uni. It’s not relevant to anything, and it just goes to prove how desperate you are. Which is just as insane because the whole Npower affair isn’t even that important either.”

Adam tilted his head curiously as Fergus refilled their glasses this time. “What do you mean?”

“We both know it’s a story that’s been told a million times before,” Fergus shrugged. “Big businesses do this sort of thing all the time – the lies, the miss-selling, the intimidation – because they can get away with it. They’ll do anything to make more money, and they can afford the fine if they can’t get away with it. This story isn’t the first of its kind, and it won’t be the last…and that’s why I’m so confused as to why you’re so fucking interested in this one.”

“Occupational hazard,” Adam said, snatching back his full glass. He couldn’t remember whether this was his second or third, or even his fourth. The lager he’d drank before Fergus arrived didn’t count towards his drink total for the night. But the truth was Adam could hardly remember why he chose journalism in the first place.

Maybe once upon a time, he thought he could change the world by exposing scandals, liars, and cheats, helping people by bringing the truth into the light. Sure, he’d never been the sickening 1950s style of journalist with a notebook in hand, a skip in his step, and a disarming smile – which is just as well because he’d look like a wanker in a trilby – but he must have been passionate once. But he had been naïve to think innovative journalism could pave the world in gold, and with each knockback and each failure, somewhere along the way, his passion calcified into resentment. Sometimes, when Adam sat at his desk poised to type, he could feel the ghost of his enthusiasm haunting his fingers.

Occasionally it helped, but more often than not it hindered. The longer Adam spent dragging out one story, the less time he spent on any others. But at least he still had that one excuse when people asked why. Why do you care so much? Why are you so obsessed? Why the fuck are you so angry?

_Occupational hazard._

“You’re bored,” Fergus said suddenly, pulling Adam back into the present. He hadn’t picked up his cutlery yet with half his meal still growing cold on his plate.

“What?”

“The story is duller than a wet fucking Sunday in Scunthorpe,” Fergus shrugged. “No wonder you’re trying to spice it up by lying about my non-existent coke habit.”

Adam smiled despite himself, using his fingers to eat his lightly salted chips. If he were honest, he’d prefer McDonald’s, but when you get an excuse to use company expenses, you might as well go all out. “What about embezzlement?”

Frowning, Fergus leaned forward, his head spinning. He couldn’t tell whether it was down to wine or the sheer insanity of the evening. “Are you sure you’re not the one on coke?”

A laugh escaped Adam’s mouth, unaware the lingering fingers of the sound had wound themselves around Fergus’ ribs and squeezed. He just chewed his chips and gave up on concealing his joy in all this. Though, on reflection, he probably wasn’t doing an excellent job of it anyway. “That receptionist...” he began, waving a non-committal hand. “She’s embezzling, and you know about it.”

Fergus took a sharp breath in through his nose. “Everyone knows about it, Adam, and I’d hardly call it embezzling. She’s stealing fucking milk money for God knows what reason and the company is already keeping an eye on her. _Fucking embezzlement_ ,” he scoffed. “Your semantic games wouldn’t hold up for long, not when actual journalists decide to get involved and find out the truth for themselves.”

“Probably not,” Adam admitted. “But the idea that you would cover up a full-scale embezzlement scandal would probably be enough to bring your political career into disarray if the cocaine thing doesn’t quite handle it.”

“So, you’ve brought me here to try and blackmail me into giving you something for your story,” Fergus said, raising his glass to his lips, but was left wanting when he realised he’d already drunk more of it than he’d thought. Everything seemed a little hazier and the fuzz around the candles larger. “It’s not going to work, Adam. Your attempts are pathetic, and I’m tired of listening to you talk.”

“I promise I’m not going to take up too much more of your precious fucking time,” Adam retorted, rubbing his forehead with his too-warm fingers. “Just answer my questions about Npower’s sales teams, about John, give me a new statement I can use, and I won’t have to make up any stories of my own.”

Fergus filled his glass again, the bottle containing only half a cup more, which Adam would soon pour into his quickly depleting wine glass.

“I’m not giving you an inch, and even that’s more than you fucking deserve.”

“Look; frankly, I don’t care about the Npower affair,” Adam admitted, pressing his lips tightly together in a careless smile. “You’re right. It’s a dull fucking story, and it’s one I’m sure we’ll cover again in the future with a different business. When you think about it, it’s the customers’ fault for not fucking reading the contract properly or doing the maths themselves. It’s almost clever what they’re doing, isn’t it? But the outrage sells papers, and I’ll take what I can get.”

 _Jesus Christ, how long are we going to keep doing this?_ Fergus pretended to check his phone messages, slipping it out of his breast pocket to check the battery. 32%. More than he needed – he just hoped the warmth of the phone didn’t make it overheat and die. He dropped it back into his pocket with a yawn.

“Whilst I admit that some customers probably had this coming because they never fucking learned how to read,” he began, wishing he could tear that smug smile right off Adam’s freckled fucking face, “it’s an unfair practice in general. Customers deserve to know the truth if they’ve been scammed, sure, but we also have the right to hold off on official statements until we’ve conducted our own investigations.”

Adam’s brow furrowed and his eyes darkened, but there was still a lightness in his body that made him glance towards his napkin covered phone and fidget with the corner of the linen. “My journalist did the investigating for you. You know that you cheat customers, and your bosses aren’t investigating it, are they? They’re trying to find a way out.”

“I don’t know what they’re doing,” Fergus admitted, pushing away his plate so he could lean his folded arms on the table. “They’ll tell me what to say when the time comes and until then, I’ll keep quiet and keep an eye on things. You can tell your lies if you want,” he said, meeting Adam’s eyes with a coldness at odds with the warmth of the restaurant. “But all it will do is take the attention away from our culture of lies, making it easier for them to get away with it. Maybe they’ll fire me as a token gesture, and maybe I won’t get re-elected into the council, but all that will be used as a smokescreen by Npower to keep doing what they’re doing.”

He drank some more and quietly cursed Adam’s five o’clock shadow blanketing his strong jaw. “Besides, I could get back into politics some other way. Especially when people realise you lied – my excellent fucking decorum through adversity will only prove that I’m a great fucking leader.”

Adam stared back at Fergus like he was sizing him up for something. He had to admit, Fergus had more tenacity and backbone than he expected from someone so proudly a Liberal Democrat, but that was by the by. What really struck him as he stared, was the beauty mark beneath his left eye. Had that been there all night? Had it been there the last time they’d met? Adam almost couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it before. But then again, last time, Fergus’ eyes weren’t alight with strength or reflecting a flame as brilliant as his phoenix hair.

When the waiter sidled up to the table to take their plates, Adam could have shouted at him for disturbing him. Instead, he swallowed his frustration and asked for the bill. Fergus said nothing as he finished his glass.

“I’m glad you’re doing it this way,” Adam admitted as they rose from the table after paying, finally collecting his phone from the unused napkin but not yet slipping it into his pocket. “It’s far more fun to write about coke habits and embezzlement than dodgy company practices.”

“Well, as long as it’s fun, that’s all that matters,” Fergus grumbled, collecting his coat and umbrella at the door. Before he slipped on his jacket, he turned off his phone. He wouldn’t need it anymore, would he?

The chilly air outside was a strong right hook to their faces, and the rain had once again started up. Light, but enough to be an inconvenience on the journey home, and speaking of inconveniences, Adam was still lurking at Fergus’ side, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Now, the thing is, Fergus,” Adam said, walking alongside him as he turned down the alley beside the restaurant for a more sheltered spot. It was like Fergus had already forgotten he was holding an umbrella. “I know you’re counting on easily disproving my coke and embezzlement stories, but I think that’s going to be a bit harder for you than you anticipated.”

“Oh, and why’s that?” Fergus asked, his face a marble edifice.

“You ought to have been more careful,” Adam crooned, slowing his pace. “You drank too much wine, and loose lips sink ships and all that…and I have a lovely phone recording of the entirety of dinner.” Both men stopped in their tracks, Fergus not giving away anything that might reveal his panic. “You admitting to taking coke, knowing about Celia, agreeing with me that your customers are dumb as fuck…a little bit of clever editing and it’s all the proof we need.”

Fergus licked his bottom lip, suppressing his smirk. His heart beating like a jackhammer as he took a hesitant step forward, breaking eye contact with Adam.

 _He wants my fear_ , Fergus thought. _He wants to see the fear bubbling through my irises, but I won’t give him that. I physically can’t._

“That’s a shame,” he said casually.

Slightly bewildered by his mild reaction, Adam began walking again too, his fingers curled tightly around his phone. There was a small skip in his step as he tried to catch up with Fergus. “As a press officer, you should know better than to drink a bottle of wine with a journalist and _talk_. You’ve been willfully ignorant at best and horrifically stupid and reckless at worst.”

The more Adam spoke, the more Fergus wanted to rip his skin off. Pressure was building in his head, and he could feel his chest rising and falling beneath his coat, the movement becoming quicker with each step. He gripped the umbrella tighter, as though his soul wanted to tether itself to something more tangible than his body.

“Truth is, Fergus,” Adam said with an exaggerated sigh, sliding his phone into his pocket, “I’m kind of disappointed in you. I expected better. Two degrees and a career in talking to the press and you still failed. You’re still thicker than an elephant’s fucking testicle.”

The frustration bubbling in Fergus had manifested itself into his childhood twitch, sending the nerves around his right eye into spasm. But even this mild physical malady didn’t stop his body from lurching out in frustration – Adam barely saw it coming. Just a flash of slate grey and ginger hair by the light of the streetlamps.

Fergus barrelled into Adam, knocking his spine flush against the restaurant’s damp side wall, knocking the air from his lung. With his arm and umbrella pressed tightly over Adam’s muscular chest, he thought he could see a started smile growing over his mouth as he bared his ivory teeth.

They were so close, they could smell the warm, fruit aromas of the wine on each other’s breath and the musk of their aftershave on their necks. There were even the shadows of candle smoke hanging in the air. Their eyes were locked – dark blue on dark blue staring back at one another like a mirror reflecting the still sheet of the sea.

“Don’t you ever fucking presume to know what my intelligence level is,” Fergus warned, shoving Adam back again with a grunt when he tried to wriggle free. He was acutely aware of the exposed triangle of bare skin and collarbone beneath Adam’s open collar and tried to ignore it. “I was smart enough not to brag like a twat, but you’re not the only one with a fucking phone and an audio recording of tonight.” Spittle flew from his mouth and landed on Adam’s cheek. “So, if you dare fuck me, Kenyon, I’ll fuck you back twice as hard.”

Adam didn’t know what to say. He was overcome with the harsh reality he’d underestimated Fergus and how the world had sharply shifted because of it. God fucking knew where he stood any more. He was losing his footing. Adam’s breath was coming out ragged, and his eyes scanned his adversary’s face, noting the fine mist of rain clinging to his hair like dew on a spiderweb. How his smooth cheeks had turned righteous red, and his wine-stained lips were parted in apprehension, much like his own.

 _Fuck. He’s beautiful_.

“Is that a promise?” Adam breathed.

Fergus didn’t say anything back. He couldn’t. Before he had registered what Adam had asked, their mouths had found one another in the dark, leaving Fergus as winded as Adam, and Adam as flushed as Fergus.

Their lips slid across each other with an intensity that would leave them bruised come the morning, little whimpers eking out in the half-second they had to catch their breath again. And when Adam’s fingers snaked through his hair, his hand tangling in the soft strands at the back of his head, Fergus knew that nothing would ever be the same again.


	7. Fuck.

**5:52 am, 12th April 2008 – Fergus’ Bedroom**

For the first time since he bought them, Fergus had a new appreciation for his blackout curtains. The sun was still far from emerging from the Southern Hemisphere, but the thick swathes of cloth hanging from his windows did an excellent job at blocking out the streetlamps, the traffic lights, and the momentarily exposing glare of car headlights.

If he lay completely still in the artificial darkness, kept his eyes closed, he could ignore the heavy weight on the other side of the bed and the small dip in the mattress between Fergus himself and the fucking demon beside him.

Judging by the cadence of his breath and the irritating, high-pitched whistle at the back of his throat, Adam was still fast asleep, one hand tucked under the pillow and the other dangerously close to the bare skin on Fergus’ back. If either moved in a particular direction, it would be as if Adam were running his hot hands over him again – agonisingly slow and teasing, and then with a harsh, greedy urgency. The thought sent a shiver down Fergus’ backbone, though whether it was from disgust, pleasure, or some sick combination of both, he wasn’t sure.

As Fergus dared not to breathe too deeply, a sudden thought came to mind. Perhaps, if he were quiet and quick enough, he could find Adam’s phone in the abandoned piles of clothes and delete his recording of their dinner. Not that it would make a huge difference – there was no way Fergus would be deleting his copy, and at most, it would probably just enrage Adam for a while. He’d still write whatever he wanted. If anything, the recordings actually incriminated Adam more…so, depending on how the day played out, it could be more helpful to Adam than Fergus wanted it to be.

Instead, he continued to lay there as still as a rock on a mountain, pretending that Adam wasn’t behind him, his breath warm on his shoulder. He tried to ignore any thoughts of Adam, the Mail, the recordings, dinner, last night, work, and instead feigned sleep. If he were lucky enough, Fergus might even fall back asleep for real. The longer he could avoid reality, the longer he could avoid the inevitable consequences.

The last time Fergus had done something like this was at university. Still, at least back then, he and his one-night stand had both been too drunk to remember much more than the initial sloppy kiss in the toilets by the Student Union bar and the awkward goodbye come the morning. Neither Fergus nor the other guy spoke of it again, and whenever they passed each other on campus, they didn’t even look at one another. It was like the other didn’t exist in their respective worlds, and the mistake was erased in the mutual pretence. They had been like two comets travelling in opposite directions, joining together to burn brightly for a second before continuing on alone in their own trajectories.

Fergus wondered if Adam would be kind enough to let them continue on their individual destructive paths or if he was vindictive enough to make sure they collided, sending rubble raining among the stars.

He resented how messy Adam had made him feel, and he forced himself to look upon what could only be the face of real evil by gently rolling his head to the right on the pillow. Adam’s cheek was squished against the pillow like a child’s against the glass of a shop window, his dark eyelashes curved and caressing his soft skin. There was something serene and harmless about him in this state of sleeping vulnerability, but Fergus knew it wouldn’t be long before the claws and acid came out again, the bitter bile making him turn rabid.

When he glanced down, he could just see the hint of the Bermuda Triangle of moles and freckles on Adam’s chest. It had been so easy to get lost in those beauty spots, and Fergus had allowed himself to be drawn to them like a sailor to a siren when he pressed his lips to Adam’s chest, carefully joined the dots with his fingers.

Adam sucked a sharp breath in through his nose and shuffled under the covers, causing Fergus to snap his eyes shut and tense up. He lay and listened as Adam came-to and bit back a harsh response as he slowly realised where he was and muttered a heartfelt ‘fuck.’

But Adam didn’t move, he lay there too for a further two minutes or so, presumably waiting for his eyes to grow used to the different shade of dark and the minute neuroses of the room. Working out where his clothes lay. All the while, Fergus continued to pretend to be ravaged by sleep, cursing the fact his foot suddenly felt like it was being crawled over by ants.

Eventually, Adam slipped out of bed, tiptoeing around the room as he found his boxers at the side of the bed, his trousers near the wall, and his shirt draped over the cherry wood dresser. Fergus could hear the rustling of linen and polyester with every piece he found, as he hastily pulled them back on again. Finding his shoes seemed to be a little trickier as, guessing by the way Fergus could hear shuffling close to the floor, Adam was crawling on his hands and knees, checking for them under the bed and the dresser. He got to his feet with a groan when he remembered they had kicked them off as soon as they’d stumbled through the door.

“Fergus?” he muttered tentatively, lurking by the bedroom door. “Are you awake?”

In a way, the absence of not deciding was a decision made in of itself. He stayed still, holding his breath in the dark as he considered what to say, but Adam didn’t think to wait, assuming he was asleep after all. So, he crept out without another word, sitting on the stairs to slip his shoes back on before slipping out the front door, closing it behind him softly.

As the door shut, Fergus felt something in him sink and flood his veins. He waited for a few moments just in case Adam came back for something, but when it became clear that Adam was certainly gone and probably in a taxi home, Fergus got up too. He pulled on the navy dressing gown he had hanging on the back of the door, revelling in its warmth.

After flinging open the curtains, the burgeoning light filling the room to glow on the creases of the bedsheets, the imprint of Adam’s head still on the pillow, Fergus switched on the alarm clock’s radio. The gentle droll of the weatherman helped ease him into his mental planning of the day. Tidy up the bedroom, the world’s hottest fucking shower where he’d scrub himself until he could no longer smell the lingering fragrance of Adam’s aftershave, breakfast, catch up on council emails. Maybe he’d then spend the afternoon reading, or he’d go for a run…, and he should probably call his mum at some point too.

He had just come back from getting his shoes at the door when he heard the conversation on the radio start.

“The way Npower is handling the situation and leaving customers in the dark about what’s happening next is absolutely appalling,” said the host, quickly warming to his debate topic. “But we want to hear what you think. Have you been caught out by one of these rogue salesmen? Are you one of Npower’s sales reps? We want to hear from you, so give us a call on-“

The radio came to a cracking silence as it toppled off the bedside table and slammed into the wall, the pillow Fergus had thrown with a robust and sure wrist falling limply beside it.

* * *

**11:15 pm, 13th April 2008 – Daily Mail Night Desk**

“What’ve we got this week?” Adam asked, taking his usual spot leaning against the empty desk at the front of the office. He was clicking his pen incessantly, each movement of this thumb and the resulting plastic din causing the other journalists to look between themselves as they silently wondered if they were going to put up with this all night. “Charlie, make it good, or I’ll pierce your ears with your own fucking stapler.”

Charlie flicked through his notepad with a tired sigh, the blurred image of his stapler sitting menacingly at the corner of his eye. “Uhm…” He paused to scratch his hairline and ruminate on his career choice. Adam never liked his gossip articles, so it didn’t matter what he said. Adam would probably staple his face regardless. “Madonna did a workout with Gwyneth Paltrow, and there are some new gross veins on her forehead. Britney’s ex-boyfriend has been stabbed. Keeley Hawes has a new haircut.”

“Fucking useless as always, Charlie,” Adam interrupted, clicking his pen faster. His lips were red from excessive biting, and he was sure that some of the damage hadn’t been done by him. “Angela, have you got something that doesn’t make me want to throw myself or someone else out the window?”

Cutting an impressive figure, Angela looked as put together as any one of the day staff. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and met Adam’s gaze with an intense stare. “The leader of the opposition is planning a shadow cabinet reshuffle, and the shadow chancellor is talking about a lack of tax cuts or something.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully. “I know he’s a proper fucking melt and wall paint is more interesting to pay attention to but figure out what he’s on about.” Almost immediately, she typed at her computer again, seemingly clocking out of the meeting, but he didn’t have the energy to argue about it. Already bored, he looked over the soulless figures of his team and hesitated as his eyes landed on Jennifer, flicking the pen between his fingers. “What about you?”

“Well,” she said self-importantly, running her hands over her notebook with an air of reverence that made Adam want to stick his own head down a toilet, “I’ve been looking at how we can advance with the Npower affair-“

The spring in Adam’s pen became stuck, the top of the button flush with the barrel. His skin prickled with heat and goosebumps simultaneously, and he gripped the pen in his fist with such force that the plastic cracked. “No,” he said forcefully, even taking himself by surprise. He barely registered her gormless expression as he continued, his mobile becoming anchor heavy in his pocket. “No, I’m taking you off the Npower case.”

“You can’t fucking do that, Adam,” she spat back, becoming a caricature of anger. She looked like the stock image of a frustrated office worker more than someone Adam could take seriously. “I did all the leg work; I wrote the initial story.”

“And I’m the fucking editor, and I can do what I want,” Adam pointed out, dropping the remnants of his pen on the desk. “I wrote the follow-up, and I’m the one who’s trying to get information from their awful fucking press officer.” He quickly glanced at the floor as he swallowed, hoping no-one would see Friday night in his eyes, or how even Fergus’ job title made his blood boil, burning his face, chest, and limbs. “I’m taking this story, Jennifer. I can’t be bothered to fill you in on everything I’ve gotten from Williams.”

He should’ve been thinking about the recording, but instead his mind was drifting to the little red marks that had peppered his body only yesterday morning, each one a perfect imprint of Fergus’ fingers.

“Then just send me the files,” Jennifer argued. “I’ll catch up on my own time.”

“No,” Adam said again. “I’m taking over, and if you don’t like it, well, you can crawl into your own tight arsehole and hide there until we need to utilise your fucking bland personality again. I don’t care.” As Jennifer tried to gabble out a response, Adam decided he’d had enough of the meeting and brought it to a swift close, telling everyone to get on with the night and to not write anything fucking inane.

He slunk back into his office, leaving his broken pen behind, and shut the door. Slinking into his chair, he put his mobile on the desk and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do now.

It was just after midnight when Angela pushed open his office door, poking her head through with a pointless, chirpy “knock knock.”

Adam looked up from his computer with a tired grimace. He’d done nothing except read emails and mutter snarky responses to himself, occasionally looking up to glance at the world outside his office, so why he felt so drained was beyond him.

“Saying ‘knock knock’ is as annoying as it is pointless,” he told her, waving his hand as an invitation for her to come in. “What is it?”

Closing the door softly behind her, Angela stood next to the spare chair but didn’t sit. “How did Friday night go? Did you get anything we could use from Fergus?”

Adam frowned and quietly cleared his throat. “It’s not any of your fucking business.”

“Oh, so that badly then?” she quipped, barely batting an eyelid. “When I needed information from Ollie, I would-“

“This may shock you,” Adam said impatiently, a deep crease settling in his brow and his foot tapping away on the floor underneath his desk, “but I couldn’t give less of a fuck.” He flicked his tongue around his teeth, sucking on them as he stared at his phone, still untouched on the table. With a decisive inward sigh at himself, he yanked open his desk drawer and knocked his phone into it.

“No, I didn’t get anything,” he said, avoiding her questioning stare as he slammed the drawer shut again. “But I’ve got another plan…I’m not about to give up.”

It was Angela’s turn to frown, and she tilted her head at him, a portion of her hair falling from behind her ear to frame her pinched face. “Are you sure this is all worth it, Adam? Jennifer is losing the plot out there, and you look like you’ve lost the plot in here…and it’s not even a big deal. It’s been a week, and most people have forgotten about it.”

She was partially correct. He definitely had lost the plot and Friday night confirmed it. If he hadn’t been so tired or overworked, if he weren’t so stubborn, if he hadn’t drunk a bottle of wine, if Fergus didn’t look so fucking hot when he was angry and deranged, then maybe he wouldn’t have let his guard down enough to kiss him. It was all the evidence he needed that he’d definitely gone mad.

But no, people hadn’t forgotten about the scandal…they would soon, Adam was sure, but whilst the tendrils of the situation still hung within arm’s reach, he wasn’t going to let it go.

“Because it’s the principle,” he said, not convincing himself let alone Angela.

She scoffed and crossed her arms, shaking her head. “You’re doing all this over the principle? You of all people? The principled thing would’ve been to let Jennifer keep the story.”

Adam leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as he tried to push back the inevitable headache. “Did you just come here to run your mouth off at me? Because the last time I checked, you were a journalist too. You’ve made questionable and ruthless choices when it comes to articles too, so don’t fucking judge me about my principles.”

Angela took a breath and let her arms fall limply to her sides as if she were a marionette. “Fine, but I do need to warn you about Jennifer. She’s not taking this lying down, and she wants to take the situation further.”

“Take it further?”

“She wants to complain to the Editor-in-Chief or even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” she said, simulating fear. Despite being met with Adam’s gorgon glare, she smiled from the corner of her mouth. “She wants to make a formal complaint about you bullying the team too…and Charlie is fully behind her on it.”

If he hadn’t already gone mad on Friday, then he might have done so now. He clenched his jaw and let out a bark of laughter instead, his face already accepting the challenge though he was twining his fingers together tightly. “She can do what she likes; it has no bearing on my decision to take the story…and Charlie’s always been a spineless waste of sperm, so it’s no surprise.”

Angela raised her eyebrows and shrugged, turning on her heels. “Fine. I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” he said tightly, all the air rushing out of him when Angela closed the door behind her.

If Jennifer was going to complain, he needed a fucking good excuse as to why he stole the story. Somehow, he figured ‘I slept with the enemy’ probably wasn’t going to cut it. Whatever reason he did come up with, he needed proof it was the right call to make, ideally in the form of a scathing follow-up…which he could knock out with ease if he hadn’t already lied to Angela about getting nothing.

After running his fingers furiously through his hair, feeling the echoes of Fergus’ fingers running through it too, he pushed the redial button on his phone, waiting with bated breath for Fergus to answer. Much to Adam’s surprise, he didn’t have to wait long as he answered on the second ring.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Oh dear,” he answered, speaking with an exaggerated pout. “Is that any way to speak to the person who was kind enough to finally take your virginity for you?”

“Piss off, Kenyon.”

This rapport relaxed Adam, silently glad Fergus was still awake to answer in the first place. The familiar silver-tongued back and forth was a balm that soothed the damage the last few days had imparted on Adam. “I can’t, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, we have a problem.”

From the other end of the line, Adam thought he could hear Fergus trying to take calming breaths. “Is that so?”

“The thing is,” he said slowly, trying to drag out the call as long as he could, “we’re still at an impasse. Nothing has changed since we left that restaurant. We both have information, we both have these recordings, we both have a cause to ruin each other’s careers…so what are we going to do about that?”

Fergus laughed, and it sent a stab of something running through Adam. “I have more cause and reason to ruin yours more like. Is that what this is? You’ve realised how fucked you actually are?”

“Not at all,” Adam insisted, trying to keep his voice low and even. He looked out of the window at his staff, noting that they all seemed to be preoccupied with work or making coffee. “But we do need to figure out what we’re going to do now.”

“I suppose we do,” Fergus agreed reluctantly. “What do you propose?”

Adam pressed his lips together, his throat feeling somehow dry and sticky at the same time. “A drink,” he managed to say. “Whenever you’ve got time to spare. I assume you have plenty of time, though, considering you’re not doing your job properly.”

“Hilarious,” Fergus answered dryly. “Have you ever considered getting a job in comedy? Oh, sorry, you work for the Mail, don’t you? So, you already have one of those.”

“Are you fucking going to come or not?” he snapped.

Fergus snorted. “I think I remember you saying that on Friday,” he quipped. “Fine, five-thirty tomorrow. It’s a date.”

“It’s not a fucking date,” Adam said, before hanging up the phone, his heart pounding in his chest. With all that blood pumping around his body in rapid motion, there was a new energy in him that made him want to go out and terrorise the team. To give them something to really complain about.

He rose from his chair, picking up his mug from the desk with dramatic force, muttering to himself as he strode out of the office.

“It’s not a fucking date.”


	8. Mutual Understanding

**5:33 pm, 14th April 2008 – A pub in neutral territory, far enough from both their offices.**

“You’re late,” Fergus said coldly as Adam slid into the chair opposite him, his arms already sticking to the dirt-filmed table. As if it were trying to match the table, the carpet was just as sticky underfoot and perhaps even a little damp in places, the bright, bold colours and garish patterns doing its job at conveniently hiding the dirty truth.

Adam tutted, half at his sticky sleeves and half at Fergus. “Yeah, well, some of us work nights and don’t get up until five.” Settled in the wonky chair, Fergus smirking at him from the corner of his eye, Adam noticed the pint of lager sitting in front of him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Fergus said with a simple shrug. “I didn’t even put it on expenses.”

“You’re spoiling me,” Adam said dryly before taking two large gulps of his drink, the condensation dripping across his palm and down his wrist. “First things first, are you recording this? Because I’m not.”

To prove his point, he took his mobile from his pocket and laid it in the middle of the table. Fergus raised an intrigued brow and copied, sitting his next to Adam’s so they could see both blank screens.

“No, I thought I would give you the benefit of the doubt this time.”

“Good. Shall we get this over and done with then?”

The pub was filled with professionals and workers looking to let down their hair after a busy day, most of whom undoubtedly told their spouses they would only be going for one. It was mostly pot-bellied men in their forties or fifties trying to squeeze in an hour or twos peace between work and family. Sitting in the dreary darkness of the pub, strong ale in hand was their way of stopping time enough for them not to scream into their pillows at night.

Dotted between the office workers were straggling students avoiding their upcoming exams and deadlines, and young families tucking into pie and chips when Mum decided she couldn’t be bothered to cook today. One exhausted mother apologised to the bar staff as her baby decided to throw her spaghetti on the floor.

And then there was the one large table of twenty-somethings with nothing else to do, all laughing and yelling jokes and gossip across the table at one another.

Fergus, confident in their little corner by the window, nodded. He leaned back in his chair; his face glazed over like he’d rather be anywhere else and was buying his time until something more interesting came along. Like when it’s your birthday, and you have to fucking sit and listen to everyone sing out of key at you.

“Yes, let’s,” he said through a yawn. “How do you think we should proceed? This was your idea after all, so I’m assuming there’s something you want.” He raised his untouched glass to his lips, speaking into the beer, so Adam’s visage became mildly obscured. “Probably here to attempt to blackmail me into deleting the recording, are you?”

Adam smiled and shrugged one shoulder, his fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on the glass. “In a way, yes,” he admitted, his molars grinding together as he anticipated his next sentence. “I’m in a bit of bind actually, and I need a Npower story.”

“How is that any different to usual?”

“I need to use the cocaine thing,” Adam said, a hint of regret creeping into his voice. “Or find something else with equal weight. I’m hoping you’ll have something you can say this time…”

Fergus snorted and made a dramatic show of checking his watch. “Unfortunately, I don’t. So, go ahead and tell everyone about my crippling cocaine addiction and see how far it gets you when we both have the contrary proof.”

Tapping his fingers on the table, letting them creep towards a beer mat so he could spin that between his unusually nervous hands, Adam nodded. Despite looking down at the table, he could feel the heat of Fergus’ stare on him, and it felt as if he were coming out in hives. “That’s why I want us both to delete the recordings.”

“What, so I have no way to defend myself?” Fergus baulked. He noticed that Adam’s eyes were darker than usual and there seemed to be a new wrinkle in his forehead, the depth of it exacerbated by his frown. Still, Fergus remained resolute as he drank, his gaze occasionally dropping to Adam’s mouth. “It’s not happening.”

Forgetting that a thin layer of filth from the table coated his hands, Adam ran them through his hair, exhaling his frustration with a note of desperation that made him hate himself. “I’m fucked if I don’t use it and you’ll make sure I’m fucked if I do. That is why I need to delete the recordings or find something else.”

Adam looked at Fergus properly, knowing his face was set in a grim, serious, stone state that Fergus would love. He would just fucking love his misery, wouldn’t he?

Though all he did was sit at a desk and write bullshit statements and answer council emails for a living, Adam could see the weariness residing in Fergus, and he figured he wasn’t the only one struggling to sleep of late.

But, through it, a delighted smile was crawling over Fergus’ face. He leaned forward with a renewed interested in the conversation. “Oh, I see. You’ve made a mistake somewhere-“

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Adam snapped, lacing his fingers tightly together on the tabletop. “It was…a small tactical error, and now my fucking balls are at risk of being strung up like Christmas lights if I don’t get a story from you soon.”

“So, you’re begging me to bail you out?”

Unlacing his hands again and running his finger over his bottom lip, Adam shook his head. “No. I don’t beg.”

A wicked grin spread over Fergus’ face as he leisurely sipped on his drink. Sitting there with Adam’s undivided attention on him, knowing he held all the cards made pleasurable knots in his stomach that he wanted to cling to. He wanted to adhere to the desperation seeping out of Adam too, trying to ignore the part of him that wanted Adam to press that stinking misery into his skin and breathe it into his mouth.

“Oh, really?” he said coyly. “Because I’m pretty sure you-“

“Fuck you, Williams,” Adam spat back, keenly aware of how deeply his chest was rising and falling. “I need these recordings to disappear so I can do my job. Tell me something new, and we can pretend Friday didn’t happen.”

He could taste the lie on his tongue. Maybe Fergus could pretend, but, as much as he hated it, he couldn’t. Or least, he wouldn’t be able to do it well. There was something intrinsically magnetic about Fergus that kept drawing his thoughts to him, that kept his body feeling flushed and uncomfortably vacant. Only his hate made him feel full, and he wasn’t even sure he could claim that any more.

“What, all of it?” Fergus asked, a hollow disappointment stretching over him like a rapidly growing fever.

They caught each other’s eyes and stared each other down, jaws set tightly, and their hands clasped around their drinks to ground them in reality. As Fergus took in the sight of Adam’s freckles – the dark spots he could already point out with his eyes closed, and Adam admired the spun gold on Fergus’ head that gave him a fire-and-brimstone quality in certain lights, there was an unspoken dare sitting between them. A dare for the other to be the first to say it hadn’t been so bad.

“Yes,” Adam said finally, his voice shattering what could have been in that instance, sending them both slumping in their chairs.

Fergus nodded, pursing his lips, and trying to muster a devil-may-care aura that he was slowly losing sight of. “As much as I would love to forget the horror of you crawling all over me, I don’t have anything I can give you.”

“Then let me use the cocaine story without fighting back.”

“No,” answered Fergus. If this were happening to someone else, he might have been impressed by Adam’s perseverance. As it happened, Fergus instead felt it made him look stupid and desperate – in what fucking backwards world did he think he’d ever say yes? “It’s not my problem you fucked up. It’s not my job to fix it for you.”

Adam seethed quietly and quickly plotted his next move, his fingers dancing over his lips as he thought. “Then I’ll just have to call back Denise and see what more she has to offer.”

The brows on Fergus’ forehead crashed together as his body seemed to come to a grinding halt. Tilting his head and ignoring the arrogant smile sweeping Adam’s face, Fergus leaned forward again. “What?”

“Denise,” Adam said simply. “She works in the Marketing department on your floor, doesn’t she? You went to uni together.”

If Fergus’ brain could make a sound, it probably would’ve sounded like a record scratching or the unsettling fizzle of television static. He swallowed the spittle collecting in his mouth and washed it down with his lager, the yeasty tang as bitter as he felt.

“Yes,” he said quickly, unable to wipe the consternation from his face entirely. It lingered in the shape of his eyebrows and in the downward quirk of his mouth. “Yes… that’s right...”

Adam let out the whisper of sarcastic laughter, revelling in the fact Fergus was prone to mistakes too. “Don’t bullshit me; it makes you look more inept than usual, which is saying something. No wonder she was desperate to talk to me when you don’t even remember her.” He finished his lager with a greedy glug and a satisfied smile aimed at Fergus rather than his glass. “She was the one who told me about the cocaine and Celia’s penchant for petty thievery.”

It was Fergus’ turn to smile then. The action became broader when he saw the flicker of surprise cross Adam’s features. “Okay, so, not only are you trying to use a story that doesn’t exist, but you also didn’t even come across this ‘information’ yourself in your investigation,” he said, more amused than he should’ve been. “It fell into your lap by chance.”

“You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Fergus,” Adam pointed out. “Personally, I’m glad you pissed her off enough to make her phone me from your fucking phone. This is why you should always pay attention to who’s in your class.”

Fergus twisted his mouth into a frustrated grimace. “That vindictive cow,” he muttered, scratching his forehead. “I don’t think that’s why she did it.”

“There’s more to the tale, is there?”

It wasn’t any of Adam’s business, but unfortunately, Fergus’ tongue was quicker than his brain. Perhaps he thought, subconsciously, that Adam would understand. Or would at least get a kick out of it. “She asked me out, and I said no.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did Adam bark out a barrage of sharp laughter, making some pub patrons turn and look in their direction. Fergus motioned with his hands to counteract the attention, suggesting that Adam was drunk, and he was deeply sorry for the noise.

“Fuck, really?” Adam said, his smile so wide it was any wonder how his head didn’t just fall off his shoulders. “She didn’t know you’re…” He let the missing word hang in the air, unsure how open Fergus was around his sexuality and keenly aware of how many people surrounded them. Sure, it was improbable anyone would hear them, but still.

“No,” Fergus said with a sigh.

“So, she’s a vindictive cow because she wanted revenge for that?”

Fergus glanced down, swilling his drink around his glass with a steady hand and shuffled in his seat. He cleared his throat and rolled out his shoulders as he looked Adam, trying not to smile himself. Everything felt so absurd, he lips didn’t know how to behave any more. “No…I didn’t tell her. When she wouldn’t take no for an answer, I told her a date with her would give me dementia.”

Another ream of laughter erupted from Adam. He threw his head back to expose his smooth throat. For a moment, Fergus thought he could see a lingering amethyst blot from where he’d buried his face against his skin, alternating between careful kisses and scraping his teeth against his flushed flesh, Adam’s moans fluttering into his ears.

“You’re a bastard too,” Adam said, delight pouring out of him. “And horrifically, that almost makes me want to respect you. But the big question is why she would want to go out with you in the first place?”

Instead of reeling back and trying to steer the conversation to the initial point like he usually would, Fergus smirked, the motion dimpling his cheek. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

Silence strained over them, Adam’s eyebrows shooting toward his hairline as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He ran his eyes over Fergus’ concrete amusement and shifted in his seat, the uneven legs causing him to pull his chair closer to the table to keep himself stable. In doing so, their knees bumped, but neither man moved when it happened – they just kept holding their stares, letting their legs press firmly together.

“I don’t know,” Adam said finally, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I had you for one night, and I’ve already had enough of you.” Warmth seeped around his belly, a feeling that wasn’t helped by the way Fergus’ fingers were twirling around the rim of his glass. “In fact, just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.”

Fergus grinned, running his tongue over his teeth, pretending he hadn’t noticed Adam’s knee touching his. “Yes, it was fucking horrible. We can both agree it was stomach curdling,” he said, slipping into artificial boredom. “Look, you can go back to Denise if you want, but she’s not going to give you anything you can use, otherwise she would’ve given it to you the first time.”

Fuck, that was a good point, Adam thought, but he shook it off with a yawn. “How do you know? You didn’t even know you were at university together. I don’t trust what you have to say.”

“Because I know my own fucking life, Adam,” Fergus said, finally finishing his drink. “You’re not getting anything from Npower, and you’re not getting anything from me. I couldn’t give a rat’s fucking toss what kind of tactical error you’ve made, and for all I care, you can lose your job and your house and sleep in the gutter over it.”

Adam suppressed his bubbling laughter and sucked air sharply between his teeth. “That doesn’t sound like the caring councillor I’ve heard about.”

“You’re not in my ward, so I don’t care what you do or what happens to you.”

Leering, Adam perched his hands in his chin and wriggled in his nose in a grotesque, rodent-like manner. “Ouch. Harsh,” he sighed, pretending to be wounded. “That was very _Tory_ of you.”

A sharp pain ran through Adam’s shin as Fergus’ pointed leather shoe struck him under the table. He pushed his chair back, so he was just out of reach, trying not to let the sudden dark, animalistic hatred in Fergus’ eyes go straight to his cock.

“Don’t you ever fucking align me with those pricks again,” Fergus warned with a curled lip. He pointed an accusatory finger at Adam, the rest of his fingers curled tightly into his palm with his fingernails digging into the soft flesh.

“Or what?” Adam fired back, tilting his head as though it were an invitation.

Fergus didn’t have an answer, not a threateningly creative one anyway. It was growing increasingly more challenging to put the energy into it when it came to Adam. “Next time it won’t be your fucking shin,” he promised.

“Oh, I love it when you threaten me,” Adam crooned with a wink. His heart felt as if his own breastbone was crushing it. Fergus might as well have been standing on his fucking chest by all accounts. “It’s much better than your attempt at dirty talk.”

Without missing a beat, Fergus shrugged, dragging his eyes over Adam’s exposed collarbone. “Yeah, well, I was trying to annoy you. At least it’s better than the way you kept staring at me. Honestly, the last thing I wanted was a reminder of who I was fucking.”

Adam grinned, keeping his voice low. “Well, I hated the way you kept touching me like you were playing the fucking flute.”

“I hated the way you kept pushing my head down.”

“You use your teeth too much.”

Crossing his legs under the table, Fergus eyed Adam carefully. He looked as rosy-cheeked as he felt which bolstered him on. “Maybe these are all criticisms we can take on board for next time?”

Almost instantly, Adam sat straighter, his arms feeling stiff and heavy. He couldn’t work out what his mouth should be doing at this point – Fergus could be playing more mind games – so, his lips struggled between surprise, interest, disgust, and pleasure. “Who says there’s going to be a next time?”

Fergus shrugged again, not letting the quip wear down his confidence. “You kissed me first,” he pointed out. “There must have been a reason.”

“There was,” Adam admitted, pressing his lips together.

He could think of a thousand reasons: _you turned out to be my intellectual equal, you make me feel like less of a dickhead, terrorising you has been the most fun I’ve had in years. I like that you're trying so hard to cover your own ass. Ever since I found out you played, I've wanted to talk about, and play, squash with you. You look beautiful in candlelight; you’re sexy when you’re angry. We have a lot in common, and sometimes you remind me of me. I’m not sure I hate you as much as when we started._

“I was tipsy and horny, and you were there.”

“I see,” Fergus said slowly, nodding in time to his own thoughts, which sounded a lot like Adam’s.

_I like that you keep me on my toes. Even though you’re fucking repetitive, I actually enjoy talking to you. A part of me is always hoping you’ll call with those same bloody questions. I have a glimmer of respect and appreciation for you sometimes that interests me. Occasionally, I think we could be friends if we both decided this whole situation was fucking ridiculous and we didn't let our pride get in the way of giving up. I like the way you smirk when you think you’ve outsmarted me, and fuck, you’re so hot I’m not convinced you haven’t fallen into a life of journalism from porn somehow. I’m not sure I hate you as much as when we started._

“Yes, it was the same for me too.”

Adam swallowed, his throat feeling coated in coarse sand. “Good…” Glancing at the phones on the table, he sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll talk to Denise again and find something else. Or make something up. I won’t use the cocaine thing.”

“How very kind of you,” Fergus muttered.

“Yeah, don’t give me all that. I’m not doing it for you,” he answered snottily. “It’s to save my own fucking foreskin if you decide to fuck me with the recording.”

Raising one eyebrow, Fergus crossed his arms over his chest. “So, we’re deleting the recordings?”

“You delete mine; I delete yours,” Adam said, reaching for Fergus’ phone, half-expecting him to smack his hand away. His shoulders relaxed when Fergus took his phone in response, and within moments, both recordings were gone. “There,” he said as they both snatched their phones back. “Now we can’t fuck each other.”

Fergus glanced around the pub, a sheepish smile playing on his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes that made him feel like a teenager again. “I don’t know…we still could if you felt that way inclined and you didn’t have anything else to do.”

“Hm…” Adam, slipping his phone into his pocket, leisurely checked his watch with a yawn. “I suppose I still have a few hours to kill before work.”

“How practical of you,” Fergus said, getting up from his chair, hiding his smile by glancing down and pretending to brush something off his suit jacket. “Don’t fucking look at me so intently this time.”

_Because I’m worried that I won’t want you to look away._

Adam followed him out of the pub with long strides, trying to catch up with Fergus who was walking away like he had fucking rockets attached to his shoes. Any quicker and his hair would start blowing in the wind like a dog’s ears out of a car window. “Only if you don’t talk this time.”

_Because I’m worried that I won’t want you to shut up._

hey walked to Fergus’, bickering the whole way to avoid lapsing into an uncomfortably pregnant silence. But as soon as the front door slammed closed, Fergus was pushed against it with Adam’s tongue in his mouth, his hands pawing at his clothes.

By the time they had stumbled clumsily up the stairs and fallen into Fergus’ bedroom, they had already stripped to their boxers and kissed their lips swollen.

“There is one thing I should mention,” Fergus warned darkly, shoving Adam carelessly on to the bed, so both the mattress springs and Adam groaned.

“I thought I told you not to talk?” Adam said breathlessly as Fergus straddled him, spreading his hot hands over Adam’s chest.

“You did,” Fergus answered between slow kisses down his neck and collarbone, sending shivers through Adam that made him slide his hands to Fergus’ thighs. “But I think you might be interested in this.”

Adam groaned impatiently, nudging Fergus off him enough to prop himself up on his elbows. “You’re such a fucking mood killer. Can’t it wait?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he admitted, ignoring Adam’s grimace. He reached over to the nightstand’s drawer, pulling out a USB stick that he held up in front of Adam with all the reverence of someone who was holding the Holy Grail. He could feel his breath hitch in his throat, but Adam was doing nothing to cause it. It was the apprehension of making himself vulnerable, and Adam still wouldn’t fucking look away like he asked. “But I took the liberty of making a copy of the audio recording, anticipating you’d want them deleted.”

Adam frowned, blinking at the USB stick like he hadn’t seen one before. “What the fuck would you do that for?! I thought we had some mutual understanding?”

“We do now,” Fergus agreed readily, “but we didn’t when I made the copy. It’s not that I don’t trust you per se, but I wanted insurance in case it all went tits up.” His voice became more demanding as he leaned forward until their noses brushed and they could feel the other’s warm, lager-soaked breath on their faces. “And because I want you to remember how serious I am about fucking you if you go back on your word. Do I make myself clear?”

Another silence followed as Adam moved with his thoughts, letting his lips crash into Fergus’ once more. Adam shot one hand out to grab the USB stick in the moment of distraction, Fergus immediately pulling away with a gasp as the plastic was snatched from his fingers.

“Crystal clear,” Adam panted, throwing the USB over his shoulder where it bounced against the opposite wall and skidded across the floor, eventually coming to a stop under the bed.

Before Fergus could find the right expletives to scold him, Adam roughly pulled him forward on to the bed and rolled them over, so Fergus’ smacked the wooden headboard and landed in the dent between the pillows.

“Fucking hell,” Fergus' voice held more of a whine than he had intended as he reached up to massage the back of his skull. Adam merely smirked, wrapping his fingers around Fergus' small wrist and pulling his palm to his cheek. Acutely aware of the fact that he hadn't shaved that morning, Adam felt somewhat dubiously insecure, though he would never have let on in a million years.

Fergus' sensitive fingertips curled, cupping Adam's cheek and softly caressing his jawline before delicately digging into the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to meet his own. Adam shifted himself, so he straddled Fergus who sat, sinking into the bed that had been so cold and unaccustomed to this much romance in what felt like an age.

Their bare thighs burned where they met, and Fergus became more comfortable exposing so much of himself as he gradually learnt that, secretly, Adam was just as much in awe as he was. 

His small whines and gasps of appreciation that followed lengthy kisses caused Fergus to suppress his smiles as they broke apart, the burning in their chests becoming too much through lack of oxygen. Though their lips lingered together for what seemed like hours, it also felt fleeting when Adam tore himself away to explore Fergus' jawline with his gasping kisses. Though Fergus internally cursed when Adam pulled away, he was quietly glad he had an opportunity to catch his breath. 

Deep exhales through his nose meant that Fergus could pick up on adam's scent that lingered in the nape of his neck, his nose touching it every so often as Adam busied himself behind Fergus' ear - his biggest weakness. The lager from earlier still consumed his sense of smell, but now he was beginning to notice Adam's own unique scent of spearmint and lemon. A scent which probably originated from the packet of nicotine gum that had fallen from his pocket as he pulled off his trousers, Adam assuming Fergus hadn't seen it.

Adam's tongue began to trail along the sensitive auricle of Fergus' ear softly, and he couldn't help himself. A loud whimper escaped him, followed by a sharp intake of breath when Adam nibbled at his ear lobe. 

"Let's stop playing games, Fergus," Adam growled into his ear, mere millimetres away, causing Fergus to push down the shiver that threatened to expose him. "There's always a way we can both get what we want." 

Their eyes met, Fergus' brows furrowed though Adam was unsure as to whether this was out of confusion or needy pleasure. 

"Shut the fuck up. If I can't talk, neither can you." Fergus' will wasn't as strong as he'd hoped as his gaze fell onto Adam's hard, heaving chest that stood so plainly in front of him. His hands involuntarily reached out as he rested both his palms on Adam's skin which now was beginning to glisten slightly with arousal. 

Fergus pushed Adam back slightly, so both sat upright, Adam snugly kneeling in Fergus' lap. His wine-dark eyes led Fergus' into a trance that pulled his lips like a magnet to Adam's chest. 

His kisses were tender and desperate as he licked and sucked and nibbled at Adam's torso. He even managed to evoke some chuckles of appreciation from Adam as he focused his efforts on tangling his fingers into Fergus' hair, gripping and tugging gently, and making Fergus' kisses even more impatient and his hands uncontrollable.

First, they rested on the tops of Adam's arms, the down to his thighs, then to his waist before finally resting at the base of his back, shifting the two men closer until Fergus held Adam impossibly close.

Neither could retain their cocky exterior for much longer as they sank into one another, hands grasping, lips wandering, and hearts thumping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter was a collaboration between myself and my darling best friend, Emily, because I'm absolutely awful at sexing things up. So, if you enjoyed what came after Fergus smacked his head, you have her to thank. And so do I. Thank you again for helping me out with it and breathing life into the ending - you're a true star and I'm very lucky to have you ♡


	9. Fergus Ruins a Good Thing

**9:07 am, 21st April 2008 – Npower Head Office**

The newspaper fell on to Fergus’ desk with a fluttering thud, causing him to look up from his computer with a clenched jaw. Denise’s neatly manicured hand curling back into a fist that she let drop to her side again.

Her over-plucked eyebrows struggled to meet in the middle of her forehead as she frowned down at him, her nose upturned self-importantly as Fergus caught her harsh stare. She nodded towards the paper and its block lettering, sniffing at nothing.

NPOWER FAILS TO BACKGROUND CHECK ITS SALES STAFF

By Adam Kenyon

Fergus gave a disinterested shrug in response, eyeing her suspiciously as she continued to linger around the desk like bitter smoke after a church fire – acrid charred wood littering the air for miles. He pretended to read the article, skimming over the curves of the typeface, and imagining Adam at his desk, typing out this bullshit he hated with growing resentment for the mess he’d gotten himself into. For a split second, he smiled before tossing the paper to the side with a bored grimace.

“So?”

“He just won’t give up on this place, will he?” She said, sniffing again. “You’re just lucky it isn’t any worse.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” he answered pointedly, glaring at her with a daggered stare which made her blink away her own surprise, moving back by half a step.

Denise daintily cleared her throat and continued to hold her head high, her eyes unable to settle anywhere on Fergus comfortably. They just kept swivelling in her face as though she were chasing a fly without moving an inch, her face beginning to glow with colour. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Fergus said, exasperated, rubbing his browbone with his fingers. “I’m not in the fucking mood. Adam told me you got in contact with him…clearly, he didn’t think a line of coke at a party was worth anything.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Denise raked one hand through her hair, chewing on the inside of her lip as Fergus continued to stare at her, barely blinking. “Fine,” she admitted. “Fine. I did call him, but you had it coming for being such an arsehole.”

“Maybe,” Fergus admitted with a disarming smile, his frame loosening as he picked up the newspaper again, leisurely flicking through it with the occasional lick of his forefinger as turned to the next page until he landed on the crossword. “But does Celia know you tried to throw her under the bus too?”

She paused; her thin lips smeared with brown lipstick open in an O shape. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just, if I were going to try and frame someone for abetting theft by going to the press, I probably wouldn’t name drop the girlfriend of one of the Executive Directors,” he said, his lips curled into a butter-wouldn’t-melt beam. When Denise frowned, biting the skin around her thumb, he continued. “I mean, if Celia _somehow_ discovered you’d told the press about her sticky fingers, she probably wouldn’t be overly impressed…and neither would the Executive Director. Imagine what might happen if he found out.”

Denise narrowed her eyes and swallowed her pride enough to take her thumb out of her mouth. “Yes, you’ve made your point,” she said sheepishly, straightening her fitted navy blazer. “Does she know?”

For a moment, Fergus considered lying – it would undoubtedly give him a kick to watch her shit herself in the middle of the office – but he decided against it, thinking the quicker he ended the conversation, the quicker she would fuck off.

“No. But how about you just learn to take no for an answer and save us all the fucking bother next time, huh?”

Turning from a gracefully shameful light pink to a righteous red, Denise’s cheeks swelled with anger. “This is why no-one likes you, Fergus,” she said, looking around the office to see if anyone was watching her display of confidence. No-one was, but she kept going anyway. “You’re rude, you pretend to care about to others to further your own agenda, and you have all the morality of a limp piece of fucking lettuce.”

Fergus barely reacted externally, but internally, he was both laughing and rolling his eyes. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, and she was just showing herself up. He nearly felt sorry for the poor fucker who said yes to her, but then again, if any man ever did, he’d be a proper bellend too.

“Are you done?” he asked, turning his attention to the crossword.

Denise pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yes, but I actually came to warn you that John is on his way down. Wants to speak to you apparently.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned, leaning back heavily in his chair. “Just for once, I’d like him to fucking phone me directly instead of having someone else deliver his fucking messages.”

Already walking away, Denise shrugged, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “It’s because he hates you as much as the rest of us do.”

It didn’t take long for John to arrive, his jowls wobbling as he pulled Fergus into a nearby meeting room and collapsed into a chair with a heavy sigh. His hair, beginning to look more like a mullet than he probably wanted it to, was shining with grease at the roots. He swept his fingers through it and sent flakes of dandruff cascading over his shoulders and the tabletop like a little indoor snowstorm.

“How the fuck did the Mail find out about us not doing background checks?” he asked as Fergus slipped into a chair opposite. There were dark circles under his eyes that suggested he’d been spending his days answering questions from his sales team and the nights wondering when all of this would finally blow over.

All Fergus could think to do in response was press his lips together and feign concern too. “I have no idea,” he said, the tip of his tongue slipping out of his mouth to lick the corner of his mouth. He cleared his throat and gave him a marginally more confident smile. “I’ll do everything I can to curb the damage, of course.”

“What can we do or say to deflect from the situation?” John wondered aloud, rubbing his fingers across his chin and jawline. “If you had done your job properly to begin with and released a statement that said something meaningful, the Mail would have left us alone. Did you piss of Kenyon somehow?”

Fergus’ smile faltered fleetingly, but he kept it strong despite the overwhelming urge to tell John to go fuck himself. He nodded and squared his shoulders as might do in an official meeting. “I probably did, yes,” he admitted, his mind filled with images of Adam’s handsome furrowed brow that made him feel oddly calm. “And I’ll tell you exactly what I told him: I couldn’t say anything else. The Executive Directors signed off the statement, and they didn’t want me saying anything else. My hands were tied. Are you still conducting the internal investigation into the employees that were caught fleecing customers?”

Lowering his hands from his face, John let out another sigh. “Technically, yes…or at least that’s our official stance on it still. It’s pointless doing an actual investigation when I fucking know they’re all doing it because I told them to.”

“I know I can’t make this choice for you or implement it,” Fergus began, cocking an eyebrow at the discontented John. “But personally, I think there are two options to best get the Mail off our backs. The first-“he held up his index finger- “you quit, and I write you a statement that puts all the blame squarely on you.”

John looked at him like he’d just been punched in the nose and he could taste the blood in his throat. “Fuck off, that’s not happening.”

“Then option two,” Fergus continued, flicking up a second finger, “is to get rid of a bunch of the sales assistants.”

As John contemplated it, Fergus could see every emotion and possibility cross his mind. It would be the ideal situation – throw the employees under the bus to make it look like the company was doing something even though it didn’t tackle the main problem – John himself – but that left the possibility of vengeful employees going to the press themselves. If they were eager to talk before they were fired, John could only imagine what they would be like after. Would it lead to a broader scandal? Perhaps not if he could make them take voluntary redundancy instead…

“Yes,” John said slowly, a smile returning to his chubby face. “Yes! Let’s just do that…I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

Fergus nodded, smoothing out his tie with a satisfied smile. For a brief moment, he wondered how many of the employees might be in his ward and had the decency to feel at least mildly guilty for pushing the idea, and even more for what he was going to say next. But he didn’t really have a choice, did he? There was only so many people he could make happy at once, and in this instance, someone was always going to get hurt. That was how businesses and their relationship with the press and the public worked.

“Make sure you pick staff who are unlikely to challenge you,” Fergus advised. “The ones without a backbone.”

John scoffed and leaned back in his chair with ease, his body moving with an air of lightness that hadn’t been there before. It was as if he were half the size than when he’d walked in. Even the dark patches under his eyes seemed to have disappeared.

“Obviously,” he said, looking Fergus up and down as if he were speaking in tongues. “I’m not a fucking idiot, Fergus.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath.

John got up from his chair with a new lease of life, practically skipping to the door. “Fix the background check bullshit, and I’ll let you know how the mass firing goes.”

He walked through the open place office with a jovial smile, holding a hand up and making a quip about Anna’s new haircut, unaware that Fergus was watching him with narrowed eyes and an uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM NPOWER:

Following an internal investigation into the accusations of abuses of Npower procedures and rule-breaking, we have decided to terminate the contracts of a number of the staff involved. We hope that this will send a clear message to other staff members that this kind of abhorrent behaviour will not be tolerated. We are deeply sorry to the targeted customers, and we will be contacting as many of them as possible to make things right.

We are also aware that some staff members weren’t appropriately background checked. This was an unfortunate oversight that we regret. Going forward, we shall be extra vigilant with the staff we employ to uphold the company’s standards, and so customers can be confident in the level of care they receive.

* * *

**11:12 pm, 25th April 2008 – Adam’s Bedroom.**

Adam’s bedroom was far more beige than Fergus had expected. The carpet was dull and fraying by the door, and the curtains didn’t look any better. There was a spattering of black mould along the hemline where it had crept in from a wall crack.

There was nothing on the walls – no art, no photographs, not even a pinboard - something that Fergus assumed he would’ve had to lay out his article ideas or notes. The wooden wardrobe in the corner needed replacing as one of the doors was hanging off and, looking around at the sad sight, Fergus almost felt sorry for Adam.

Then again, it made sense that he didn’t seem to care about his personal space. He was asleep during the day, pulling longer and longer shifts at work by night, and as for his weekends, well, Fergus wasn’t sure about that. And he could easily pretend he didn’t care.

He turned his head on the pillow to look at Adam, still breathing heavily with a lick of sweat covering his face, neck, and chest. Adam didn’t notice, he was staring up at the ceiling trying to catch his breath, a light satisfied smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He wouldn’t allow his eyes to close though, and almost no thoughts at all were running through his head.

It was a shame that Fergus couldn’t let his mind clear too.

“Did the background check story work?” Fergus asked, his hand resting on his naked chest, feeling the resonant rise and fall of his chest as his heart began to slow back into a steady rhythm.

It took Adam a moment to realise Fergus had spoken, and he made a small noise of confusion in the back of his throat that sounded more like a whimper before his brain had caught up with his ears. “Christ,” he sighed, his brows knitting together to create a little crease in his forehead that Fergus wanted to kiss. Not that he would ever do it or admit to it. “Not this again. Can’t we just fuck without talking about work for once?”

“No,” Fergus said. Because if we’re not doing it as a side effect to our jobs’ pressures, we have to ask ourselves why we’re still doing it. “What’s happening? Are you finally going to move on to another story?”

Adam sighed, blinking furiously as he rubbed his hand over his face. Perhaps foolishly, he had assumed this topic wouldn’t come up – as far as he was concerned, the matter was done. He hadn’t breathed a further word about the cocaine or Celia’s little habit, and Fergus hadn’t exposed Adam as an explicitly parasitic journalist. They had agreed on the background check story together, and everything felt like it could finally go back to normal.

“I’m trying to,” he said, finally letting his head fall to the side so he could see Fergus’ prawn pink face that clashed with the golden tones in his hair. The glint of confusion that fell over Fergus almost made him want to smile. “The Editor-in-Chief doesn’t think it was a big enough story to warrant how I took the case from Jennifer.”

Fergus shifted in the bed, so he was sitting upright, the sheet falling away from his torso and landing inelegantly in his lap. “But this is it. What more could they fucking want?” he grumbled, leaning his head against the headboard. “You got your story; we took direct action against staff, and I released a new statement…what more could they possibly want from me?”

“It’s not about you,” Adam told him, sitting up too with a yawn. “Don’t be so fucking self-centred. It’s a perfectly normal story that would’ve been fine if it hadn’t come from me. Unfortunately, pussies like Jennifer have started a revolt against me, and that story wasn’t big enough to overshadow or diminish the bullshit systematic bullying accusations.”

Fergus couldn’t help but smirk at this, but he quickly forced himself back to the point. “So, you’re still dangling by a thread?”

“No, that’s too dramatic,” Adam said, scratching his hairline with a conflicted sigh. “They’ll forget all about it in a few days. Jennifer and Charlie are just bitter pricks, that’s all.” He was distracted by Fergus who was repeatedly tapping his nose with a thoughtful air, making considering noises out loud. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to decide whether I should tell you something.”

Adam frowned, his pink bottom lip protruding in a petulant manner that made him look like an impatient child. “Well, now you’ve said that you have to tell me.”

With an attitude like that, Fergus imagined Adam was the kind of person who hated surprises. He could imagine he made everyone tell him what he was getting for Christmas and birthdays, even as a child – the need to take control was innate. It was just a shame that he couldn’t transfer that control from work and sex to the housework.

Luckily, this was one surprise that Fergus was happy to let slip. After this week and the voluntary redundancies and firings he’d triggered because John was too thick to come up with the idea himself, he was wondering if Npower was worth fighting for. At least he had another council surgery tomorrow – listening to people’s concerns over bin collections felt like stable territory.

“Ofgem has received so many complaints that it looks like they’re going to conduct an inquiry,” he blurted out, smiling at Adam’s blank confusion as he took a split second longer to process it than he would when he had trousers on.

“Right…”

“Right,” Fergus said impatiently, raising his hand to knock on the side of Adam’s gormless head. “Fucking Earth to Adam, we’re facing a probe that could see us being slapped with a massive fine at best.”

Adam slapped Fergus’ hand away with a pinched express, the gears in his mind finally starting to spin at the average speed again. “Fuck off, I know what it means,” he insisted, eyeing Fergus suspiciously. “When did you find this out and why are you telling me?”

Fergus had rather hoped Adam would’ve got it without needing it spelt out for him. For someone so smart, it was amazing how stupid he could be post fuck.

“Because you can fucking use it, can’t you?” Fergus said slowly, his tone teetering on the tightrope between exasperated nursery teacher and hospice nurse. “And obviously I only found out today, or I would’ve said something before.”

“Is that right?” Adam said, shifting away from Fergus slightly as he considered it. There was always the possibility it was a trap – he didn’t know why Fergus might lie about this, how it could be a trap at all, or why he would try to trap him at all, perhaps he would do it just for fun – but he couldn’t rule it out. In fact, he might as well be lobotomised if he did. But he still couldn’t shake the confusion as to why Fergus was handing the story to him so readily. “Why should I trust you?”

Fergus shrugged, pursing his lips together. “Usually I would say you shouldn’t,” he admitted. “But this time, I recommend you do. The quicker you can expose the inquiry to the public, the more you can damage Npower’s crumbling reputation. And you’ll be a step ahead of the other papers.”

“Why do you care about destroying Npower’s reputation all of a sudden?” Adam wondered aloud, his face thick with consternation. Being around Fergus was a bit like driving past a car accident. You couldn’t look away, but you knew if you did, you were just at risk as ending up in trouble too. “You’ve spent the last few weeks actively trying to protect it.”

“Because I’ve fucking had enough of trying to protect those bastards and sneering fuckwits,” Fergus snapped, causing Adam to flinch and a smile to flicker in and out of being like a trick candle. “I’m fucking sick of that place.” He paused to run his thumb over his lips, picking at a dry flake of skin at the corner of his mouth.

Npower was never his passion. He never looked forward to going into that dull office, he hated everyone in the building, and everything Fergus wrote for them was so worthless that he was half sure he could wank on his laptop and achieve the same result. But when he was doing work as a Councillor, he felt like he was doing something worthwhile. He was actually helping people instead of pissing on them from a great height.

“In fact,” he said slowly, talking over Adam, barely aware of what he was saying, “I think I’m going to go into politics full time.”

And suddenly, Adam was caught up in the car accident Fergus had created, and he was being T-boned by a fucking train. The air was sucked from his lungs, the strain pushing against his chest and squeezing the life from him. Making him ache. Then, without warning, oxygen flooded him again, so he felt like he had been placed back on dry land after being caught at sea. “What the fuck are you on about? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious,” Fergus said, wishing he weren’t naked for this particular conversation. He should’ve waited until he was dressed again, his own version of armour clinging to his limbs. “In fact, I should’ve fucking quit Npower as soon as I got on the Council. Politics is far more interesting and far more my speed, and besides, I’m not exactly going anywhere in this job, am I? Press officer is a dead fucking end. Still, if I go into politics completely, I could progress into bigger things. There are always chances to climb the ladder in politics. There’s an election in a year and a half…that gives me plenty of time to prove that I belong in Westminster.”

Adam had to admit that Fergus did at least look excited by his own speech. His eyes had a charming sparkle he hadn’t seen before like they were made of diamonds warming in the sunlight, and his cheeks glowed in a virtuous ruddy shade he wanted to paint his dining room in, just to preserve that colour for as long as he could. But he was too much of a realist to indulge in it for too long.

“Jesus, Fergus, don’t do this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Had he gone on a date with Denise after all? Because surely this hopeless exasperation was precisely how it felt to talk to someone with dementia. “You’re clearly a fucking lunatic. Politics is just as soul-sucking as Npower, perhaps even more so, and I know what kind of press you’ll have coming your way if you do it. Politicians are our bread and butter,” he warned. “The cocaine story will find its way out. Anything you’ve done that is even slightly dodgy will come out, and I don’t know what your deal is with this, but eventually, you’ll be forced out of the closet too. It might take a while for everything to unravel, but it will. I know how journalists work.”

“Yes, you do,” he said in no more than a whisper, his voice as light and airy beside him as if an angel were muttering the words to him instead. “You should join me,” he said suddenly, his voice snapping back inside him like someone cracking a rubber band against his skin.

After a bewildering moment, Adam jumped out of bed, shaking his head, rummaging around his wobbly wardrobe for his dressing gown with the hole in the pocket. “No fucking way.”

“Who better to join my team than someone who intimately knows how the media works? Why not?!” Fergus sat forward in the bed, crossing his legs, his brows pressed so close together that you could be forgiven for thinking he needed a wax.

“Because you’re clinically insane!” Adam fired back, pulling on the dressing gown without tearing his eyes away from Fergus. “You can’t just quit your job to try and make it as an MP, and I’m definitely not fucking quitting mine to follow you,” he paused to catch his breath as he tied the robe cord tightly around his waist. “We’ve known each other less than a month…just because we fucked a few times, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up my life to be second fiddle to you!”

Fergus pushed himself out of bed, reaching out for his underwear on the floor. “You wouldn’t be! Fuck, Adam, look at what we can manage when we’re trying to outsmart each other,” he said, pulling on his underwear and then his trousers, staring at Adam who was standing near the wardrobe, his arms folded across his chest. “Imagine what we could do if we were actually working together toward the same goal.”

“No,” Adam said again. “Stay at Npower. Don’t do something you’ll regret because you’re angry. Besides, being on opposing sides is more fun, isn’t it?”

It was Fergus’ turn to say no then. “I mean, it is to an extent,” he admitted, “but you can’t be happy to stay at the Mail for the rest of your life.”

“Of course not, but that’s not any of your business!”

“Come on, Adam!” Fergus huffed, pulling on his shirt. He wasn’t looking at what his fingers were doing, so he kept buttoning it wrong. “You can be my assistant for a while, and then, God knows what you could be in the future. I’m handing you a way out on a silver fucking platter.”

Adam shook his head, throwing Fergus’ shoes at him. He caught one and the other smacked against his stomach. “I don’t want to be your fucking assistant.”

“Why not?” A glimmer of malevolence passed over Fergus as he slipped his shoes back on, lacing them up with his foot on the sheets out of spite. “I could get you a sexy little skirt and smack your arse every time you got too close.” He stood up with a sigh, disappointed that Adam didn’t find it as funny as he did. Fergus had his hands on his hips, his smile faltering now. “Fine, fuck you. You can rot in the Mail office for all I care. Don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

“I was never going to say that,” Adam assured him, his mouth set in stone. “Thanks for the story and fuck off,” he said, following Fergus out the bedroom.

Fergus chuckled bitterly, checking his pocket for his phone and wallet. “Gladly. Ungrateful fucking shit.”

“I’m glad you decided to go mental,” Adam said, catching the door as Fergus threw it open. “It’s given me a reason to hate you again.” He clamped his mouth shut, seeing Fergus’ face fall as he turned to face him. Jesus Christ, how were they nearly a decade into the 21st century and the boffins had come up with a way to stuff words back into someone’s fucking mouth yet?

“What did you say?” Fergus asked. The anger that had previously been bubbling in his veins popping into quiet contemplation, his heart in arrhythmia.

Adam shook his head, his hand falling away from the door as he let out a silent sigh. “Nothing,” he said quietly, ignoring Fergus’ wide-eyed stare.

“Oh…” Fergus answered, his shoulders slumping. “Right. Well...this has been fucking awful as always,” he said, forcing his voice to come out stronger than he felt as he stepped out on to the doorstep. He turned back to say something, though what he didn’t know, only for Adam to slam the door behind him.

In the quiet of his hallway, Adam leaned against the front door, the door handle pushing sharply into his back, and wondering what the fuck was happening and what he should do now.


	10. Getting into Politics

**1:19 am, 30th April 2008 – Daily Mail Night Desk**

Everything that the Editor-in-Chief ran through his ears like an echo. It reverberated around the empty corridors of his mind and made him grind his teeth together.

“What’s the matter with you, Adam?” he had said when his frustration has petered out to a level of comfortable resignation. His bald spot shining in the morning sun as Adam tried to keep his eyes open after another long night, but they were insistent on closing, which had only rattled his boss more. “You used to be good at this job, but the last few weeks have been horseshit.”

Adam nodded, taking a sharp breath through his nose. “I know,” he said tightly. “I don’t know what to tell you…we can’t be on top of our game all the time.”

“There’s a difference between that and missing something so big that even fucking,” he paused, waving his hand towards the office door as he wracked his brain, “fucking what’s-her-name managed to pick up on it!”

“Jennifer,” he offered weakly, pointing to a copy of yesterday’s paper where the headline: **NPOWER FACES MIS-SELLING PROBE** was followed by her name, all literally printed in black and white. “It’s just one story, and I can find something else. There’s not exactly a shortage of dodgy practices in big companies.”

The Editor-in-Chief stroked his white, stubbled beard, looking more like a disappointed father than Adam found entirely comfortable. “There is for you. Your work has been piss-poor, and your attitude has been worse than usual,” he paused and licked the inside of his own cheek. “Sorry, Adam, but I’m putting you on celebrity gossip for the next three months.”

That had hurt more than he had expected, and his legs forced him out of the chair, springing him up like a frog about to jump. With his hands spread against the table, he shook his head. “Fuck off, that’s not happening. You can’t put me in the same fucking bracket as Charlie!”

“I think you’ll find I can.”

And that was how Adam found himself now writing an article about the love-bite on Amy Winehouse’s neck.

He couldn’t explain why he didn’t use the inquiry story when Fergus clearly told him he could. Any other journalist would have pounced on it given half the chance, and obviously, Jennifer had done.

Something had stopped him from saying yes when he was asked if he had something new. Something had stopped him when he sat down to type. Something had stopped him from throwing a fit when he discovered Jennifer was still investigating Npower behind his back, carefully dodging Fergus and going straight to disgruntled staff. There was certainly no shortage of those, so it hadn’t exactly been hard work.

Since Fergus left last weekend, he’d not heard much from him. In the past few days, all he had received was a photograph of the USB stick on Fergus’ desk, which didn’t make much sense. After all, that argument was over, wasn’t it? They had reached a stalemate, and nothing else could be realistically gleaned from it.

It was probably just some half-hearted attempt to get into his head. To force Adam to talk to him. Well, it wasn’t going to work – there was nothing that could get him to speak to Fergus now. He always knew he was mad, but he didn’t realise he was _that_ mad.

Although, Adam had to admit Fergus did seem more at home in politics. A conclusion he’d come to after going through his council event photos on Facebook for the fifth time. His smile actually looked genuine, but that could be a lie too because it was the same as the smile he gave whenever Adam insulted him.

“Enjoying it down here with the rest of the scum?” Jennifer asked smugly, pushing open his office door without a knock. Her face was scrunched into a pug-like smile, her body teetering on her heels drunk with the joy of it all and trying not to spill her freshly made coffee.

Adam didn’t even deign to respond with a courteous, tight-lipped smile. He stared at her with daggers, imagining what it would be like to throw darts at her head. “Considerably less now you’ve decided I care about your gloating.”

Jennifer carried on like she hadn’t heard him, bottling a bout of ferocious laughter tightly in her chest. “And so begins the gradual overthrowal of King Kenyon,” she crooned. “And not a day too soon.”

“Why don’t you go and be an infected cyst on someone else’s ballsack for a change?”

“Because it’s more fun to be one on you,” she said casually. “If anyone deserves an infected ballsack, it’s you.”

Coming by like an answered prayer, Angela stopped behind Jennifer on the way to the printer that didn’t jam. She looked between Adam’s disinterested exhaustion and the back of Jennifer’s head with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you have a deadline to meet, Jenny?”

She turned her head with a roll of her eyes. “Sure, but I have time to tell Adam I think he’s a prick too.”

Angela nodded, not taking her disapproving stare from Jennifer’s cheek. “I think you’ve made your point.”

“Fine,” she said irritably, her fingers clasping tighter around the handle of the mug. “I was getting bored anyway.”

After she had wandered back to her desk, smirking to herself, Angela slipped into his office and closed the door like she was trying not to wake a baby. Adam leaned back in his chair with an exasperated exhalation, rubbing his brow bone.

“Don’t you fucking start,” he warned, trying to blink moisture back into his dull eyes. Though he would never admit to it, he was glad that Angela was there to distract him from his wank about Amy Winehouse and her locked-up husband.

With a kind smile, Angela dropped herself into the spare chair, assuring him she wasn’t about to go off on you. Instead, she looked him in the eye and asked, “are you doing okay?”

There was a sincerity in her eyes that he couldn’t look away from, and it felt like being pierced with a thousand tiny needles – uncomfortable, torturous, and unending. The sensation made his feet itch to run after Jennifer and pull her straight back in to join in on all the fun.

“I’m fucking fantastic,” Adam said, but even he could sense the lie falling off him. “Really, really good,” he added aimlessly.

Angela watched him fiddle with his pen, his eyes darting between her, the computer, and his phone, his whole body shaking like a leaf trying to stay on its stem in the branches. But his face remained passive, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever played poker.

“Okay, if you say so,” she said shrugging. “At least you won’t be on gossip forever.”

“No, I won’t,” he said assuredly, squinting at the two paragraphs he’d written with a disgruntled grimace. “I can leave this shithole for something else in a heartbeat.”

“You make it sound like you have an offer elsewhere,” she said with a chuckle and a cocked eyebrow, her face falling when he stared pointedly, a mix of sincerity and guilt plastering his face. “Fuck off. Where? The Sun?”

Adam shook his head and tried to get back to his article, but he stopped to smooth his tie and observe the confusion unfolding in Angela. There was too much for his brain to focus on, and yet it couldn’t settle on anything.

“Nowhere you need to worry about.”

Angela’s mouth turned into a small smile as she gave him one sure nod. “You should go for it,” she said. “You hate this place, and I think it would be best for everyone.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Adam snapped, uncomfortable in the knowledge of how true that actually was. He couldn’t deny that he brought a certain something to the office atmosphere and that the staff would feel fractionally more relaxed if he left. Adam also knew that he would feel more comfortable if he left. If he worked during the day like everyone else and worked with someone he actually enjoyed talking to.

But what if it didn’t work? What if his and Fergus’ arguments turned right back around to genuine hatred and resentment? What if Fergus failed in his political aspirations?

“No, but I thought you might be interested in it anyway,” Angela continued. “What’s stopping you?”

Common sense. Fear. Pride. Common sense again.

“Nothing,” Adam said, clearing his throat.

“Then go,” Angela said lightly, her demeanour telling Adam that things really were that simple. He could just _go_. Save himself the bother of the bullying investigation that was no doubt coming, the torture of writing gossip for three months, the embarrassment of having his reputation crumble around him. “Fuck the Daily Mail. Does it pay better?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Angela scrunched up her nose with a disappointed sigh. “Shame.” She got to her feet and flashed Adam an encouraging smile. “Good luck with whatever you decide to do.”

That was when serendipity decided to get involved, and Adam’s phone pinged with a text from Fergus, which he opened with an eagerly interested hand.

_I didn’t realise you had changed your name to Jennifer. Why didn’t you use the story? I’m not sure I like the idea of you going soft on me…Might have to release some audio recordings to fire you up again._

“Wait,” Adam called to Angela, a ‘fuck it’ smile on his mouth as it occurred to him that Fergus was awake and thinking about him. A fact that made his intestines twist more than they had done when Fergus left, his face crestfallen as Adam had gone back on his ‘I don’t hate you anymore’ slip-up.

Angela stopped with a quizzical expression. “What?”

Adam darted out from behind the desk, dragging his jacket from the chair with him, dropping his phone into his trouser pocket when he caught up with her. “Do you wanna be the night editor?”

All Angela could do was blink and stutter out another shaky, “what?”

“Night editor?” he repeated impatiently. “You want it?”

“So, you’re going after all?” she asked, her forehead full of creases.

“Yeah,” he said. “Fuck these pricks. You know how it all works, right?”

A small, nervous titter fell from Angela as she looked around, wondering whether she should be calling anyone right now. “I don’t think you have the authority to appoint me as the new Night Editor.”

Pulling open the door, Adam shrugged. “That’s not my problem.”

He didn’t say a word as he walked through the office to the stairwell, not even glancing back as he pushed through the heavy double doors, past the reception desk, and out into the chilly night air.

Despite the light pollution from the garish streetlights, the headlights of few cars that whirred past, and the occasional light on in apartments, he could still see a light spattering of stars that stretched on for miles. They reminded him of the pale brown freckles that graced Fergus’ shoulders.

The walk was bracing – the silence and the calm wind giving his thoughts ample room to breathe, which ordinarily would’ve been the absolute last thing Adam wanted. But now it felt like the only thing worth doing.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was as mad as Fergus, perhaps even more so for doing it all on a whim, but he’d kissed Fergus on an impulse too, and that hadn’t gone horribly. So, who was to say this would too?

Twenty minutes later, with his heart in his mouth, he was bounding up Fergus’ doorstep and knocking wildly on the painted wooden door. Slamming it with his fist, his knuckles, and a flat palm.

“Fergus!” he bellowed. “Fergus, open up! Or I’ll fucking break the door open with one of your shitty plant pots,” he added, looking at the front path for the first time. Previously he’d been too drunk or too distracted by Fergus to pay any attention to the carnations and lavender lining the way.

Somewhere down the street, a dog started barking, and a light on the other side of the road flipped on.

“I know you’re awake,” Adam continued, raising his voice over the dog. The longer he had to wait, the more determined he became to get Fergus’ attention. “Let me in!”

The door eventually creaked open to reveal Fergus standing in the doorway, his golden hair sticking up at odd angles and curling around his ears. He was holding his dressing gown tightly around himself as if he were trying to cuddle himself.

“What the fucking are you doing here?” he asked, whisper shouting with the promise of a smile. “You’re going to wake the whole street!”

“Let me in then,” Adam said, stopping himself from reaching out and taking Fergus’ cheeks in his hands.

Playing reluctance, Fergus opened the door wider and allowed Adam to storm in. He didn’t stop in the hallway, but rather instead he took to the stairs, flying up the two at a time with Fergus running behind, shouting after him.

“Oh, so you’re not even going to kiss me first or say hello?” he said as Adam fell into Fergus’ room. “This is more than a little presumptive of you.”

Adam smiled at him. A genuine, fond, fleeting thing that he wanted to hold on to for as long as possible. “I’m not here for that,” he said, then shrugged, another smile inhabiting him. “Although maybe later, actually.” Admittedly, the soft, warm, and tangled bedsheets did look inviting.

“Then what are you here for?”

“Where’s the USB stick?” he asked, turning to the desk, and rifling through a stack of pages and envelopes, dropping council paperwork he didn’t care about the floor. Which in turn sent Fergus into a series of throaty protests.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked, picking up the pages and nudging Adam out of the way as he seized the USB from the top drawer of the desk. “Give that back.”

“No, you don’t need it,” Adam told him, closing his fingers tightly around the plastic. “And neither do I.”

Fergus frowned, looking at Adam as if he’d never seen him before. Which was partially true – he’d never seen him like this. So wide-eyed and manic. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you still need an assistant?” he asked, suddenly realising how fast his heart was beating as he allowed himself to stop, holding Fergus’ gaze with a gentle intensity that made him feel like an open wound. Sore around the edges and unbearably messy.

There was a moment of silence as Fergus searched Adam’s face for any signs he was joking. Or suffering from some kind of fever. But there was nothing. Nothing but the gentle, hopeful lines of his face and a nervous twitch at the corner of his lips.

“Really?” he said, a note of uncertainty causing his voice to crack. “What made you change your mind?”

Adam clenched his jaw, turning the USB stick in his palm, trying to find a way to answer that question without sounding like an absolute prick. Deciding that there wasn’t a way around it, he leaned into it. “Because I fucking hate journalism and for some reason, I hate you a lot less…and I want to see how it plays out.”

“Huh…” Fergus said, failing to suppress a smile. “I think that was almost a compliment.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Adam said coldly. “I can still change my mind.”

“I hope you don’t,” Fergus admitted, “because I hate you less too, and I haven’t got a fucking idea what to do about it.”

A broad grin took over Adam, and his grip tightened on the USB, holding it up between them. “We can start by getting rid of this,” he said, taking off out the bedroom and leaving Fergus blinking on the spot.

He caught up with him in the bathroom, only to watch him drop the USB stick in the toilet and pull the flush with a self-satisfied smile. Fergus furrowed his brow and pressed his lips tightly together, expelling a short shot of hair through his nose.

“Why the fuck did you do that?!” he asked helplessly. “All we needed to do was delete the audio, and I could’ve kept my fucking USB stick!” Fergus sighed, scratching at his stubbly chin as Adam peered into the toilet bowl. “Are all your ideas this stupid?”

Adam shrugged, walking away from the scene of the crime and back to the bedroom. “There’s only one way for you to find out,” he announced proudly as he lingered by the desk, casting a glance over Fergus’ council papers that he didn’t understand. “So, are you going to teach me about all this stuff?”

Fergus snaked his arm around Adam’s waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, his heart jackhammering into his ribs. But instead of giving him anxiety sweats, it just made him feel hopeful. God. Was this what genuine contentment felt like?

“Tomorrow,” he promised, pulling Adam away from the desk, quietly pleased that he seemed so eager to start. “Right now, I want to try and go back to sleep after you decided your dramatics were more important than anything else.”

“Sorry, boss,” he said mockingly. “It won’t happen again. Although, I have to admit the dramatics were part of the appeal for me.”

Narrowing his eyes at him, Fergus gave Adam an exasperated sigh. “I hope there were other appeals.”

Adam grinned, delighted by Fergus’ reddening cheeks. “There was at least one other,” he muttered, letting his lips crash into Fergus’ again, pulling him closer by pressing his hand to the small of Fergus’ back. 

In this one simple movement, as Fergus threw his arms around his shoulders, Adam knew that he’d never stop wanting to touch Fergus Williams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! If so, please consider leaving a comment, some kudos, or even both!
> 
> You can also come and find me on Tumblr (@annaobyrne) and Twitter (@bethany1marie)
> 
> Thanks again, everyone, you're the best! ♡


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